#chaotic and just a blur of trying to stay above water

[thepaintedlady00]

Nightshade

Chapter 5: Fuck The Cape

Chapter 4 | Chapter 6

TW: depictions of near drowning, memories of parental abuse & neglect, smoking, drinking, fights (not graphic), unhealthy coping mechanisms, panic attacks, general stress, I know nothing about cameras or photography, emotional vulnerability.

“I can’t do it!" I cried out as the waves tossed against me. The sun was still high in the sky, blinding slivers of light reflecting off of the moving water and shining into my eyes as I desperately tried to stay above water.

The boat only a few movements away bobbed on the surface, groaning with each shift of the waves. "You either sink or swim, Lena." The voice was soft and nurturing, but the words were anything but. "And Glovers don't sink."

Water crashed over my head, forcing me beneath the surface for a moment before I managed to push myself back to the top. I freedom sucked in as much air as I could, wide eyes looking at the half-shaded figure lounging on the boat. "Mom please!"

With a sigh, she shook her head as she stood. "Sink or swim."

The roar of the engine ripped along the surface of the water as the boat eased further and further away from me, back toward the shore. My heavy breaths did little the warm the cold that settled in my limbs as they moved, struggling to keep me afloat. With hot tears blurring my vision I forced myself to swim forward.

Salty. Sweet. Bitter. The water hit my tongue each time my heavy limbs splashed above the water. Each time it was a different taste, a different sensation that filled my brain with a moment of distraction. The taste, however potent, did little to help keep me from sinking as the fatigue finally set in. My eyes burned each time I forced my head to breach the surface, taking in as many sharp breaths of the frozen air as I could before sinking deeper and deeper into the ever-darkening water.

Sink or swim.

With one last push of my arms, I forced myself above the water and fumbled for the ledge of the buoy. My frozen fingers curled around the even colder surface as I tugged myself closer to the bright red material. It swayed with the waves, chaotic and violent but I held on. The sun began to set over the sparkling horizon and as night fell I could only wait and pray she would come back for me soon.

Sink or swim.

"Lena?" Howard called on the other end of the phone. "Are you still there?" The red buoy caught the light as I stared across the shimmering water, stuck in echoes of the waves and the cries of the birds, everything that held the bitter memories of a girl lost to this sea.

"Yeah… Yeah, I'm still here." I sighed, tearing my eyes away from the ocean and forcing my breaths in and out. Just breathe. "Sorry, I… got distracted."

Howard made a noise of acknowledgment. "Perfectly understandable. I take it you found somewhere nice and secluded to rest and maybe have some fun?"

My eyes shifted once again to that damn red buoy. "Secluded is definitely a fitting word. Sorry, again, for giving you such short notice."

"Don't worry about it," he insisted. "I'm well versed in keeping the restaurant afloat through sudden changes."

A sharp tingle ran through my limbs, forcing them to recall the numb heaviness of fatigue that had stemmed from keeping me afloat on those damn waves. "Still, I'm sure Scott won't be too happy about it."

"Scott will understand. Enjoy your vacation, Lena, you've earned it."

"Yeah... I will," I lied. "Thanks again, Howard."

"See you in a few days."

I squeezed the closed phone in my hands trying to stave off the numbness before it spread to my legs. God, I was so stupid. I knew what Cape fucking Cod held… I knew what would happen when I got here and yet I came anyway. I always did. At this point, it was some sick and twisted ritual that forced me to face the past and move on. Except the last part never happened. Instead of sorting my shit out and moving on, I spent my time either avoiding it all with booze and drugs and fights or by stupidly diving headfirst into the worst of it all and reopening every damn wound I worked so hard to mend. I'm so fucking stupid, I told myself again as I walked back towards the house. This is fucking stupid! 

The beach house was exactly how I left it, covered in broken glass and empty bottles of whatever booze she left lying around before she left. I walked over the glass, intentionally stepping down harder to ensure it’d shatter into even smaller more difficult pieces to clean up, and made my way to the kitchen. There was nothing to eat, never was, but there was always plenty of wine and whisky and right now that was all I needed. Pulling a bottle off the counter I sat down on the floor, looking out across the floor of glittering glass and dust, I flipped my phone open and dialed the number without sparing a second glance.

Ring. Ring. Ring. “Hello?” My breath caught in my throat as tears began to fill my eyes. “Just kiddin, you’ve reached Jack Harrow leave a message after the beep or whatever.” Beep.

“Hey pops,” I whispered, closing my eyes. “It’s Lena… I… I just wanted to hear your voice, you know that sentimental shit or whatever. Pete’s coming home next week. He’s not out of the woods yet, but he’s looking better than he has in years and I hope this is the thing that actually works for him, ya know? He deserves to get better and to live the rest of his life. Oz has the bar pretty much under control, though I think he misses having you around to mess with. Patrick’s doing right by the place, hasn’t changed a thing. I… I started working at 22West.” I laughed, imagining the slew of phrases he’d say to lovingly mock me. “I know, I know… I missed it. Well, the cooking part at least. Feeling like I was part of some top-notch kitchen and getting to watching rich people blow thousands of dollars on a chicken thigh or some wine. Everyone’s been nice, you’d like them.” After a minute of silence, I couldn’t help the soft sobs that worked their way out of my throat. “Daddy I… I… your jacket got ripped up. It was all my fault and I’m sorry. I’m so sorry Dad.”

The machine beeped again, cutting off the rest of my sobs and pleas for forgiveness. I curled up on the floor and pressed the phone harder to my ear, listening to the ringing again and to his deep voice and quiet chuckle. “Hello? Just kiddin, you’ve reached Jack Harrow leave a message after the beep or whatever.”

Beep.

*

Cape fucking Cod. Jake hated the cape more than he hated anything, even Howard or Etienne. He hated the little shops and the ugly blue-chipping color that almost every building seemed to be painted. He hated how everyone would smile and wave as they recognized him and Simone making their way toward her mom's house. Why did I even fucking come back here? He asked himself scowling at everyone they passed by. Simone laughed ahead of him, catching up with someone she knew or something. 

Jake watched her for a second and sighed. Simone asked him. That’s why he came. She told him she needed him around to support her while she dealt with her mom being her mom. It wasn’t that big of a deal… and he owed her that much at least after everything she did for him back then and still did for him now. If Simone needed him Jake would be there, no matter what.

“Moms pulling out all the stops,” Simone said falling into step beside him. “Cooking our favorite meal and all that good stuff.”

“Yippie,” Jake mumbled, pulling out the last of his cigarettes from the pack and getting ready to light it before Simone ripped it from between his lips with a sigh.

“Can you go just one day without smoking like a damn chimney?”

Jake clenched his jaw and tensely smiled at her. “Sure.”

She stopped walking and dug a small piece of paper out of her bag, holding it out to him. “I’m going to go get things settled at the house. You head to the store and pick up the wine and dessert for tonight?”

“I’m on it,” he assured her, separating from her to head off toward the small store he knew was just around the corner.

“And Jake!” She called after him, causing him to turn and look at her. “Thank you… for coming with me.”

Jake smiled, “No problem.”

The second Simone was out of sight Jake returned to his displeased scowling. Everything in this town reminded him of the childhood he couldn’t wait to get away from. Every street and person that walked along it contributed to the heavyweight that settled in his chest, growing tighter and tighter the longer he stayed here and breathed the thick salty air. As he turned the corner the weight on his chest lifted for a minute at the sight of that familiar red hair. No fucking way.

Lena walked down the sidewalk toward the small store with her head down and dark sunglasses covering her eyes. She looked like shit. Tired and dressed in clothes that looked old and tattered compared to what she normally wore. What made him narrow his eyes were the bruises that she hadn’t even bothered trying to conceal on her jaw and hands. When she walked into the store Jake smirked and made his way across the street. Maybe this trip would be good for something after all.

*

I said thank you to the young clerk and walked out of the store, holding my new pack of cigarettes in one hand and my lighter in the other. "Hey, can I bum one of those?" 

"Damn it!" I hissed startled, turning to find Jake standing next to me, smirking like he’d just won the damn lottery. "What the fuck are you doing here?"

He reached over and grabbed a cigarette out of my pack and scoffed. "It's a small town, princess. You want anonymity, you're gonna have to find it somewhere else."

I chose to ignore the new nickname as my head throbbed and I growled out, "Did you follow me?"

"Don't flatter yourself, " he replied, holding his hand out to me waiting for my lighter. "Simone has family here, our trip has been planned for weeks."

"So it's a coincidence then?"

"Yep." He nodded to my lighter. “Gonna help me out or?”

I handed it to him and turned to keep walking. Jake followed, of course, happily puffing smoke along the way. “Stop following me.”

He chuckled and shook his head. “But I’ve got so many questions!”

“I’m not answering questions today Jake. So, just I don’t know go do whatever the fuck you’re here to do.”

“Just one question, since I’m such a good friend,” he offered.

“Will it get you to leave me the fuck alone?”

He laughed. “Maybe.”

“Fine.”

“What are you doing in Cape Cod?” As we walked side by side I could see his eyes looking me up and down, likely focusing on how shitty I looked.

Fuck it. “I used to live around here during the summers with my mom.”

Jake stopped, pulling me with him. “No shit, really? Simone and I lived here. Just up the hill over there.”

“Great for you,” I replied pulling my arm free of his grasp. “Now, excuse me I have things to do.”

“If you lived here how come we never ran into each other?” Jake continued to follow me with his pestering questions.

I rolled my eyes and sighed. “You got your question, Jake, now fuck off.”

He didn’t listen, of course, he didn’t. “Think I woulda remembered a girl like you around here.”

A girl like me… he wouldn’t have recognized the little girl I was back then. I hardly did. “I wasn’t like this back then.”

“No?” He hummed. “Were you fat or something?”

“No.” Fucking asshole.

“What then?”

"You really don't want to come with me," I warned him, choosing to stray as far from the topic as I could. "It's not your scene."

He wiggled his eyebrows and smirked. "I'm up to try anything once."

With a poorly concealed smirk, I nodded. “Alright then, come on tough guy.”

The old gym made Jake’s eyes narrow, but he didn’t stop following behind me until we reached the basement door and the burly man that stood in front of it. He nodded to Jake. “He with you?”

“Yup,” I replied looking back at him over my shoulder. “Unless he wants to leave?”

“And miss out on all this fun mystery shit, nah,” he replied with a quirked brow. A challenge.

The big man gave us both some garbled warning before moving to the side and letting us descend the dark stairs into the brightly lit basement filled with a crowd of people cheering and shouting at the two fighters in the middle of the room. It was hardly professional, but I didn’t need it to be.

Jake looked around curiously, though I could see a shred of doubt in the way his eyebrows creased. “You don’t have to stay.”

He looked down at me with narrow eyes. “You fight people in your free time?”

“Not always,” I answered. “Just when there’s a lot of shit I need to work through. Having something to punch usually helps. It’s an old habit of mine, not exactly healthy but it works.” I set my bag down on one of the shitty tables they set up off to the side of all the action. “Like I said, you don’t have to stay.”

I was expecting him to make some excuse to save face and hurry out of there while he still could, but Jake surprised me again, sitting down next to my things. “You think I’m just gonna leave you here to get the shit beat out of you?”

“I’m not gonna get the shit beat out of me,” I assured him with a smile. “I am rather good at this.”

“Yeah, those bruises you’re sporting sure instill a lot of confidence.”

“I gotta give them a few hits or no one will fight me.”

Jake chuckled, settling further into the seat. “Well, when you need help limping home I’ll be here.”

Wrapping my hands I rolled my eyes. “I should just take my frustration out on you instead.”

He opened his arms, making room in his lap. “I’m definitely down for that.”

“You’re unbelievable.”

“Suit yourself,” he replied. “At least my offer won’t give you any new bruises.” He paused. “Scratch that, at least my offer won’t give you any bruises you won’t enjoy getting.”

Once my hands were properly wrapped I turned. “Try not to get your ass kicked while we’re here? I know it’ll be a real challenge for you.”

*

Jake hadn’t expected, well, this. Most girls he knew would spend bad days drinking wine and watching some shitty movie or shopping to take the edge off. Lena Harrow was not like most people, he’d quickly discovered. Watching her move in the shitty ring, dodging hits and landing even more was a surreal experience. Sweat glistened on her body, making her face practically glow in this brutal way that made him question a few things about himself. The satisfaction and pride that swelled in his gut at the sight of her taking down opponent after opponent was something he wasn’t expecting either.

Lena wasn’t much to him, a friend maybe but that was still a relatively new thing, and even that was forged in his underlying desire to get her to accept the mutual attraction and act on it. Jake tried to remind himself in the moments when Lena treated him like a friend that it wasn’t real, that she was just another back waiter, cook, or whatever, that he wanted to fuck. She wasn’t Simone. She didn't know him and he didn't know her. Lena was something else, though, something that Jake was more afraid of than he’d ever let on.

As her third opponent hit the floor she turned, her tired eyes gleaming and a bright smile on her face. She was beautiful, even covered in sweat and blood and lit up by the shitty basement lights. She was beautiful and Jake fucking hated it.

*

I sucked in a sharp breath, wincing at the sting of the alcohol-soaked rag that Jake lightly pressed to my scratched-up knuckles.

"So, Hurricane Harrow? That another one of your boxing names?"

I shook my head, carefully undoing the rest of the wrap with my free hand. "It's more of a term… My dad's family comes from a long line of boxers. People would chant Hurricane Harrow when one of them got so mad in the ring that they stopped caring about rules and just went for blood." Jake was quiet, his blue eyes watching me with shockingly clear concern. "When my dad started teaching me how to fight he told me I had demons in me. He said the fire and rage they gave me was useful in a fight, but I needed to control it or it'd consume me."

"Harrows seek out fights like damn bloodhounds," my dad said, wrapping an arm around my shoulders. "I know you're gonna keep this goin til you can't move, so the least I can do is show ya how to be good at it."

I looked at him through my one good eye. "You're serious? You're gonna let me fight?"

Dad smiled. "I'm gonna teach ya, never said I'd encourage your little alleyway brawls. There's a catch though."

"Course there is."

"You keep those demons in check for me, yeah?" He grinned, ruffling my hair. "Last thing I want is to end up lookin like you."

"You're such an asshole!" I shrieked with a laugh, shoving his hand away and sorely standing up. "You're on pops."

Jake pressed the cloth down a little harder, but even then he was being so gentle I’d almost forgotten it was him here and not someone else, like Peter or Patrick. “Everyones got demons Lena, not just you.”

"My brother doesn’t… not like me at least." I smiled a little, the bitter feeling making my chest tighten. "Peter has always been kind and good… Everything I'm not. He never fought out of anger, but out of passion. He loved the sport… And he was just so fucking nice about it. Why? Why did I have to be the one with all the anger?" It was a question I’d asked a lot, one that I already knew the answer to, but Jake answered it anyway.

“I don’t know,” he said softly. “But if it’s any consolation I kinda liked seeing that side of you.”

I looked up at him and laughed nervously. “Oh?”

Jake nodded, continuing his careful cleaning of my hands. “It was badass.”

“Thanks,” I grumbled, wincing when he rubbed a particularly sore spot.

"And hot."

"Shut up."

After a beat or two Jake said, “Your dad would be proud of you, Lena."

Clenching my jaw to keep the ugly noises trapped in my throat I nodded and wipe a tear from my eye before it could fall. “Thanks, Jake. I’m… oddly glad you decided to follow me.”

He smiled. “I’m great company, I know.”

“Your confidence is truly an inspiration,” I said, kicking his shin lightly. “Come on, I’ll buy you dinner as a thank you.”

He helped me up and fell into step beside me as we made our way out of the locker room and down the street, leaving the coppery tang of blood and the grunts of blows landing far behind us. This was something new, having someone around me while I was living it up at rock bottom. It felt both nice and unsettling. What was even worse was the fact that Jake didn’t judge me. He didn’t say anything or give me a judgmental look no matter how many cigarettes I smoked or glasses of whisky I ordered. Jake just stayed. He talked about his childhood here, or lack thereof, and spoke about how much he hated the stupid town. Jake hated Cape Cod almost as much as I did and I liked it.

We sat down outside, ordering a simple plate of cheeseburgers and french fries both of us insisting that fish was fucking disgusting. While we waited for our food Jake took another cigarette out of my bag and stole my lighter. “Are you planning on reimbursing me for my cigarettes?”

“Fuck no,” he replied inhaling the smoke.

“Oh, so you’re stealing from me then?”

Those blue eyes sparkled. “Says the girl that stole a drug dealer's motorcycle.”

“Touche.”

The food got brought out to our table and I instantly took hold of the large burger before looking up at Jake, who looked at me curiously. "I'm not gonna eat this all dainty like," I warned.

Jake shrugged with a roguish smile. "By all means, chow down, princess."

"Stop calling me that,” I grumbled.

"Nah," he said, blowing smoke across the table before dropping the rest of his cigarette to the ground and snuffing it out with his boot. "I like the way it sounds. And you clearly enjoy it."

"Ass."

I took a big bite of my burger, maintaining eye contact with the smirking Jake as he did the same. The two of us tried hard not to laugh and spit our food out. Jake managed to chew his faster, wiping the condiments from the corner of his mouth as he chuckled. “That was impressive.”

With a little bow, I swallowed my food and laughed. “Never seen a girl almost choke on a cheeseburger before?”

“No, that was definitely a first.”

“I aim to please,” I replied digging back into my food.

Jake finished his food first and had quietly taken up smoking as the wind began to grow colder the more the sun started to set. “So, seriously, how come I never saw you around here when we were younger?”

Part of me didn’t want to answer, but the other part looked at his totally idiotically handsome face and the sincerity that had taken to his features. I shrugged. “I don’t know. My mom and I never really stayed long and we mostly kept to ourselves. I wasn’t exactly the same as I am now.”

“I mean I figured the boobs and ass weren’t as noticeable then,” he teased with a smirk. “But that hair is hard to miss.”

“Believe it or not I used to hate my hair. I’d always wear a hood or a hat just to try and blend in a bit.” I sighed. “Even dyed it one year. It was horrible and I regretted it instantly! I was a lot less cool than I am now.”

“I don’t believe that for a second,” Jake insisted.

“It’s true!” I laughed. “I was a geek that spent all day inside practicing the piano or cello or ballet. I didn’t really do much during the summers with my mom.”

He nodded, an odd look shining in his eyes. “Think we woulda been friends back then?”

“Depends, were you nearly as annoying then as you are now?”

Jake laughed, loud and full, and the sound made me feel something deep in my chest, something I never felt out here. “Oh, I was just as annoying.”

“Then I think we would’ve been quite the pair.”

“Yeah, me too.” Jake leaned forward a bit, resting his elbows on the table. “Can I get one last question?”

I sighed, exaggerating with a smile. “I guess.”

“Why’d you run?”

The image of my dad's jacket torn apart and hanging in my hands was seared into my memory as I bit my lip and looked anywhere but Jake’s face. “That fucking leather jacket. It was my dad's. Was… the last thing he gave me. I’d been sitting with him in that fucking hospital for days when he just held it out to me and told me to look after it for him for a minute.” I chuckled a bit. “He was convinced one of the nurses was going to try and steal it. I… I put it on when I went down to the cafeteria to get us some food and when I got back…” Blinking the tears from my eyes I shook my head. “He was gone.”

“I’m sorry,” Jake said. “I figured it meant something to you, but I didn’t know it was like that.”

“It’s not your fault,” I said. “I was the one that was supposed to look after it and I didn’t.”

He shook his head and reached across the table to take hold of one of my hands. “It wasn’t your fault either. If anything let's blame the idiot that tore it up.”

Jake’s phone ringing broke the quiet moment between us as we both pulled away from each other and he reached into his pocket to answer. “Hey… No, I know… Alright chill out, I’m on my way… I said I’m on my way Simone, Jesus.”

I stood up and placed the tip on the table. “Duty calls.”

“Yeah,” he sighed following my lead. “You gonna be okay?”

“I’m a big girl Jake,” I replied with a tense smile. “I’ll be fine.”

He nodded, but I could see in his eyes that he didn’t believe me. “Well, if you end up needing anything call me.”

“I don’t have your number.”

“Yeah, you do,” he replied with a grin. “I put it in your phone back at the gym.”

Scoffing I started walking. “What an invasion of my privacy.”

He laughed and shrugged. “Try not to get too fucked up out there.”

“You too, tough guy.”

The quietness of the house usually never bothered me, but as I downed my fourth shot of tequila it suddenly grew almost unbearable. I was used to being alone… at least I had been, but now. I wanted to go home. I wanted to sleep in my own bed or even in the uncomfortable cot next to Peter. But I couldn’t go home, not when the only thing keeping me from falling apart was booze and cigarettes. I couldn’t. If I did I’d go straight to Dom and I’d fuck all my progress up. I’d fuck everything up.

Out the window, the red buoy seemed to glow in the orange light. The numbness in my hands slowly started to return as I twirled my phone in my hand and considered calling Jake. He was busy no doubt, with Simone and whatever it was they came here for. He’s busy, I told myself setting the phone down on the counter and committing to the idiotic idea that had settled into my head after the second shot. I almost slipped on the shards of glass as I made my way out the front door, and just started walking. I forced myself to breathe deeply, even though the air smelt rancid the closer I got to the ocean.

Driving a boat drunk is not something I’d recommend, but somehow I made it past the red buoy and managed to stop the damn thing in the perfect spot. Staring out across the shimmering water I could feel the panic rising in my chest, could feel it but idiotically didn’t even try to stop and think. No more thinking. I stepped off the edge and plunged into the cold water. No more thinking.

*

Jake couldn’t get out of that house fast enough. He’d forgotten to get the wine and dessert, which made Simone almost unbearable through dinner. Her mom was sweet like she always was, but it made Jake feel uncomfortable, reminding him too much of what little he remembered of his mom. He excused himself, holding his camera up and telling them he was going to get some shots of the beach before the sunset.

So there he was, walking along the beach next to the docks, taking pictures of the ocean and the sand. He aimed the lens out onto the water, focusing on an empty boat and snapping the picture before his brain registered the name neatly painted on the side. Harrow. A pit settled in his stomach as he pulled his camera away from his eyes for a moment before looking again.

He looked around the boat for a moment before he zoomed out a way. The camera lens focused on the floating red buoy and Jake felt his chest tighten at the sight of Lena, swimming sluggishly behind it. “Lena?”

She disappeared under the water for a minute too long and Jake could hardly breathe as his feet moved quickly toward the boat at the dock, the one he’d used to dare kids to take for joyrides because the idiot owners always left the keys in it. He hopped in and looked back out at the water as Lena’s red hair resurfaced and her pale hands gripped onto the buoy for dear life as the waves crashed over her. “LENA!”

God fucking damn it! He cursed, turning the engine on and hauling ass out onto the water toward her. The boat cutting through the water echoed distantly in his ears as that hideous fucking fear consumed him just like it did when he was a kid. He could hear the police quietly whispering about his mom as he sat on the stairs of his old home and waited. He could recall the sad smile on Simone’s face as she tucked him into his new bed for the first time and curled up beside him stroking his hair while he cried. At that moment he remembered what it felt like when he’d first tried to drown himself. The breathlessness. The pressure.

His mom walked into the ocean and didn’t come back. He’d be fucking damned if Lena was going to do the same.

*

Every inch of my body shook as I clung to that damn buoy. What the fuck was I thinking? Who the hell just jumps into the fucking ocean to try and prove some stupid point to a mother that’s not even here?! I could hear the water around me, the engine of some boat or another driving past, but everything was muffled as the panic began to overtake everything else. “Sink or swim.” I’d sunk. Sunk and fully settled into everything she said I would be. “You’re going to regret this, little one. Not now, maybe not even in a few years, but one day, when you’ve accomplished nothing in your life you’ll regret this moment.”

“LENA!” Jake’s muffled voice echoed in my ears as my head was pushed below the water again. “Lena give me your fucking hand!”

Jake? I turned my head the second I came back up to find him leaning over the edge of some boat, reaching out for me. His blue eyes were wide and full of fear. “J-J-Ja-ake?”

“If you don’t give me your hand right now I swear to fucking god I’m going to drag you by the hair into this boat Lena!” He reached out to me more as his voice turned desperate, pleading, “Just give me your hand.”

Shaking I reached out to him and numbly latched onto his arm as he pulled me up into the boat. Jake shrugged off his jacket and wrapped it around my front before pulling me into his arms and rubbing my cold skin. As my breaths quickened and the memories of all the other times I’d failed replayed over and over again in my head as I mumbled.

He didn’t know what I was talking about and honestly, he probably didn’t care. Jake just held onto me tight, whispering to me, “I’ve got you. It’s okay, I’ve got you. Just breathe. Please just breathe.”

By the time my panic attack had settled the sun was gone and the stars filled the sky. Jake and I sat in the boat, looking up at the sky, neither of us sure where to start. “My mom died out here. In this water.”

I turned my head and looked at him. Though his face remained stoic I could see the pain in his eyes as he looked up at the sky. “I’m… I’m sorry… I didn’t know that.”

He shrugged. “It’s fine, most people don’t.”

His mom died… drown and yet he’d come to get me. He must’ve been so angry, so scared… I shook my head. “It’s not fine. You had to come out here and drag me out of the water your mom died in. I can’t even imagine how terrifying that must have been.” Jake’s face only twitched into a moment of fearful sorrow. I leaned further into him. “I’m sorry, Jake.”

“Why were you out here?” He asked, voice cracking slightly. “Why the fuck were you out in the middle of the fucking ocean?”

I could have given him whatever answer I wanted. Jake didn’t know the truth and he didn’t have to. No one did. The longer I sat there, covered in his leather jacket and being warmed by his body heat the more difficult it was to keep the truth inside. Eventually, I sighed and the words began to slip out, “I was never good at the piano or the cello or ballet. No matter how many hours I spent practicing… no matter how badly my fingers bled or my feet ached from the effort I put into the stupid things it was never enough.” I tapped on my leg for a minute, working up the courage to continue through the lump in my throat. “My mom insisted I wasn’t trying hard enough. Glovers are hard workers with talent and determination and in her head, I lacked both. To her, I was just lazy. So… when I’d keep getting the notes wrong or messing up the routine she’d plop me in a boat, drive out past the buoy and tell me to get in the water.” Jake was watching me closely now, I could feel the heat of his eyes, but I didn’t have the heart to look at him. “I’d swim for hours before she’d start the boat and tell me to sink or swim. She’d leave me there to swim back to shore myself. I never could… I’d always end up hanging off that stupid buoy until one of the neighbors came and got me. She wouldn’t even let me back in the house when I got back so I’d have to stay with the old couple across the street for the night.”

“That's… That’s fucked up.” He mumbled.

“Yeah,” I wiped the tears from my eyes and glanced back at him. “After a while, I went to live with my dad and brother. She signed over custody without a fight and told him good luck.”

“I’m sorry,” Jake said, his tone low and unsure. He clearly wasn’t expecting all this and sure as hell didn’t know how to respond to any of it. “What is it about this fucking place that makes everything just shit?”

I laughed softly and shook my head. “I don’t know. But, hey, at least we turned out only marginally fucked up.”

Jake laughed at that. “I fucking hate it here.”

“Me too,” I replied. “It’s probably the worst place in the world.”

“And yet neither of us seems to be able to stay away.” He sighed. “Maybe we’re more fucked up than we think.”

"Let's make each other a promise then," I said, holding my pinky out to him. He visibly bit back a snarky remark about the "childish" action. "To never come back here again."

The blue of his eyes sparkled as he thought about the offer for a minute before he nodded, reaching out to link his pinky with mine. "Yeah, okay."

"Fuck the cape," I said, my pinky squeezing his.

Jake smiled. "Fuck the cape."

*

I stood in the aisle of the store, looking at the condiments blankly while I tried to kill time. Mom was in another meeting, like always, and I'd been practicing for hours before I decided it was time for a break. So there I was, standing in the shitty store staring at condiments.

"Hey, pass me a thing of mustard?" A voice asked from beside me.

"Sure," I replied, bored.

The boy smiled crookedly as I handed the mustard to him. His ocean-blue eyes sparkled in the fluorescent lights and his dark hair was sticking up in several places. "Thanks."

"No problem."

He tilted his head. "You new around here? I don't think I've seen you before."

"Not new," I said. "But no, you probably haven't seen me."

He was about to ask another question when a blonde girl rounded the corner and gave him a scolding face. "There you are! You can't just wander off!"

"I didn't wander off." He rolled his eyes. "I was getting the mustard."

I silently excused myself from their argument, tucking my red hair deeper under my hood and making my way past them toward the front door. I needed to practice some more anyway, not stand around some store with arguing strangers.

[tx-libra]

first mother’s day:

- avoiding instagram

- woke up at the river with kathryn, now back at home spending the night with j

- eating good food, including frito pie in mom’s honor

- trying to not pressure myself to do anything or make a Day out of it. feeling okay and then suddenly very sad in waves. my dad’s beautiful post about her set me off

- i participated in a zoom call for motherless daughters hosted by hope edelman and claire bidwell smith on friday and it was so. so nice. 185 other women who understand. many who are experiencing their first mother’s day with me this year. i really felt peaceful after that call

[j-wont-stop]

Title - The Scarred (Chapter Eight)

Word Count - 2938

Fandom - Batman: The Dark Knight

Pairing - Ledger!Joker x OC

Summary - Penelope Bishop works at a florist shop in Gotham, barely getting by in the corrupted city. Her life is shrouded by therapy and judgement with little light to find her way with. However, when a certain painted face starts making himself known to her, things take a turn.

Warning(s) - Minor errors, brief smut

Inspiration - Cold (Aqualung & Lucy Schwartz)

Masterlist

A/N - Hello, lovelies! I’m sorry for the later post, I’ve been going through a lot lately and I’m trying to get myself back on track... I tried to make it a little longer to make up for it ❣️

Penelope hesitated to unlock her door, in a way expecting The Joker to be behind it once again. Once it clicked she opened it slowly, a waft of lavender washing over her as she walked into her now empty home. Her brain was foggy, eyes sore. Mind racing with thoughts of the menacing clown, but one thing stood out the most.

She wasn’t entirely scared.

She thought about what Liam had said to her. To worry about why he was curious about her rather than what he said. He held her under a knife. He had every chance to kill her, take advantage of her somehow. Use blackmail, even. But he didn’t.

She remembered how he towered over her, at least a foot in difference. She remembered the overwhelming smell of gunpowder and gasoline, yet a hint of his own smell which she couldn’t pinpoint. The way he stared into her eye with an intensity that was almost unbearable.

She shook her head to clear it once she felt her face begin to heat up.

Stupid. Penelope mentally scolded herself and began her nightly routine, starting with her bandages as per usual. She thought about talking to Liam, but her body felt too drained after her appointment.

She was tired. Tired of breaking. Tired of worrying. Tired of living in fear. Of being humiliated, stomped on and cast out. Tired of crying. Just tired. The thought of having to wake up and do it all over again alone made her feel exhausted.

Penelope slipped under her blanket and turned off the lamp, yet she couldn’t bring her eye to close. She stared at the wall in front of her as if it was her lifeline. She stared until she lost the will to stare anymore, and that had always been frightening to her.

“J -“ The woman gasped. Her mind was clouded with the movement of his hands as they caressed her. Her mouth was parted, eye fluttered shut and head tilted back against her soft pillow as he guided her into oblivion. Their mixture of sweat and pants only ignited the atmosphere and he buried his head in her neck to lick a trail up to her jawline, earning a shiver beneath him. All too suddenly, she felt a sharp pain and her eye snapped open.

The space above her was now empty, her body covered in a mush of ash and sweat as the room grew brighter with flames. Quickly they became angrier, a more fierce heat enveloping her until it was just within her reach. It inched its way closer by the second, closer -

Penelope shot up with a shriek, gasping. She balled up the fabric of her shirt and coughed, a false hope to properly retrieve air. She ran a hand over her face and spun to sit on the edge of her bed, the only provided light was the moon that shone bright through her blinds from above its wooden frame. The lines drew themselves across her hunched figure, shoulders beginning to slow with the rise and fall of her every breath. She looked over at the alarm clock sitting on her nightstand.

3:00am.

Chewing on her cheek she reached for her phone and stared at it in thought. Her nimble fingers flipped it open and began searching through her contacts for her Irish friend. Penelope felt terrible. She felt like a nuisance, doing this from time to time. It wasn’t common, but it wasn’t uncommon, either. Her thoughts raced a few moments longer before she pressed the call button.

One ring. She bit down particularly hard, drawing blood. Maybe I shouldn’t do this.

Two rings. What if he gets irritated with me?

Three rings. Her heart picked up its pace, skipping a beat. I don’t want to upset him…

Four rings. I shouldn’t do this -

“Penny?” Her heart dropped at the sound of his groggy voice.

“Hey…” She whispered into the phone. “I’m so - I’m sorry, I don’t mean to bother you…”

“‘Ey, ye know it don’t bother me none.” He noticed Penelope's hesitation. “How ye, luveen?”

“Can I come over? I - I can’t sleep.” She heard him sigh from over the phone and squeezed her eyes shut. She knew she shouldn’t have called. She knew he would be irritated. She knew -

“I thought we were past ye havin’ to ask.” She could hear him rustling in his bed in the background. “Come on, then.”

The earthy smell of the apartment was what began to calm her down first. It was subtle, relaxing. Fitting for her friend, though he himself wasn’t quite subtle. Penelope laid the uncovered side of her face on one of the pillows of the queen bed, curled into herself protectively. She felt the bed dip behind her, followed by a stronger waft of that same smell.

Her heart began to slow just knowing that she wasn’t alone, knowing that she was with someone she trusted. It was something that Liam could provide more easily than Emma. He was just a couple of doors down while she lived twenty minutes out, so it had only been on more serious occasions that Penelope spent the night at her place. She decided to give Emma a break, just to push it on to Liam instead. And there was not one time that she didn’t feel guilty about it.

He stayed sitting up against the bed frame rather than lying down beside her. She could feel his stare as his hand gently tucked her short hair behind her ear, and it wasn’t until then that she closed her eye. What Penelope wasn’t aware of, however, was the turmoil that occurred in his own head.

He told himself that he was just doing his job, acting the part. That he didn’t truly care. That he wasn’t attached in any way, shape or form. And in the back of his mind, he felt guilt. Every hug he gave, every smile, every moment they shared. It just added on to one, big, chaotic lie. It was nothing new to him. He was a professional, after all. Yet this was different. This felt more personal. It stood out from all of the other jobs he accomplished in the past. That’s what concerned him the most.

-

“Don’t make another appointment. “

“I told her I would when -“

“Don’t make another appointment.” The brunette shot her a warning look. The acting mother could see the amount of conflict in her eye as it danced around the countertop. “You already know she doesn’t care, Penelope, why do you insist on wasting your money on a therapist who can’t even do their job!”

“I’ve told you why -“

“And I’m telling you it’s irrational!” The shop went silent. The tension was thick. It drowned out the ambience, the cars, the clock. Penelope’s vision blurred and she sniffed, running a hand through her hair to find something, anything, to do besides acknowledge the topic of discussion.

It was rare when Emma raised her voice, for them to bicker. But the woman had enough of seeing her friend suffering unnecessarily. She could tell that Penelope’s ‘therapist’ was doing more harm than good, and she was determined to put an end to it.

“Penny…” The softness of Emma’s voice did nothing to calm her down, but was needed when the tears spilled over. “I’m just -“ She sighed to recompose herself. “I’m just trying to help you, sweetheart.” Penelope sucked on her bottom lip and just nodded, trying to hold everything in. Emma took hold of her shoulders and gently pulled her in, her own eyes glazing over at the sound of her sobs finally breaking.

Once things started dying down the bell at the door went off and Emma snapped her head in its direction, only for her shoulders to drop when it was just Liam. His eyebrows scrunched together at the sight of them and he pointed to Penelope in a silent question. When Emma slowly shook her head he gave a knowing look and walked around the counter to join them, resting a hand on their mutual friend’s back.

“Liam?” Penelope sniffed.

“Aye.” His thumb began to rub against the thick material of her jacket and she sighed.

“What time is it?” Liam glanced at the watch on his wrist.

“Almost quarter ‘til five.” Emma looked between the two of them and offered Liam a small grin.

“I’ll let you go, Penny.” She whispered, causing the woman to look up with a large eye.

“But the -?” The brunette shook her head, still holding the same smile.

“It’s just twenty minutes, hun.” She giggled as Penelope pulled away.

“Okay…” She glanced over at Liam, then back at Emma. “Thank you…” Liam used the hand on her back to guide her out of the shop, keeping it there as he opened the passenger door of his car parked along the side of the road. “Where are we going, Liam?” She asked when they drove past their apartment building. He took a deep breath, gaze focused on the road.

“You’ll see.” He threw her a smirk before turning on the radio. She decided to leave it be and looked out of her window, chin resting in the palm of her hand as the city blurred by. She noticed how the further they drove, the darker the buildings became, how they looked more and more run down and abandoned.

“Liam?” The man hummed.

“Why are we in The Narrows?”

“Short cut?” He shrugged and a familiar body of water gradually came into view. Penelope grew more confused.

“I thought it was a weekend thing?”

“It is.” He parked the car and stepped out to open her door, helping her stand before shutting it. “I juss found somethin’ I thought ye’d like.” His long strides moved in the direction of a smaller building in the distance, no greater than the size of a small cabin. She had to trot a bit to catch up to him and he chuckled at the action. He jiggled his keys once he pulled them out and smiled when he inserted one in the lock of the door, twisting until they heard a ‘click’ to open it. The door squeaked as it pushed open and Penelope’s jaw dropped at the sight before her.

There was a strong smell of fresh wood and new furniture, and that was exactly what they had walked into. The exterior of the building was deceiving to those who walked by. It blended in perfectly. Rusty metal walls, finicky doors and broken windows. But it was all an illusion. Inside, the house was pristine. It was no larger than her current living space, if anything it was smaller with its studio layout, but it certainly was an upgrade. It held a darker tone with subtle yellow accents that were strategically placed. Nothing felt too extravagant nor too cheap. It was simply moderate.

“Didn’t take as long as I thought it would, to be completely honest.” The door shutting behind them helped Penelope come to. He watched her expressions, but he couldn’t decipher them.

“What is this?” The woman whispered in awe as she stepped further into the room.

“Erm -“ Liam made a face. “Consider it yer home away from home?” Penelope immediately whipped around to face him.

“Mine?!” Her friend reached for her good hand and slapped a set of keys into her palm, then forced it shut and patted it.

“That is what I said.” His mouth opened when he noticed a panic start to set in her eye.

“Liam, I can’t - what - how am I gonna pay for it?! This is too much!”

“Who said anythin’ ‘bout ye payin’ fer it?”

“Who is, then?” She noticed the look he gave her and she vigorously shook her head in disapproval. “No. No - you’re not paying for two places, Liam. That’s not -“ She let out an exasperated sigh and looked up at him with a pleading eye. “Liam…”

“Technically, my boss is payin’ fer it. I’m juss handlin’ the process.” Her eye squinted at him.

“Yeah, that’s - Liam, that’s how paychecks work.” Liam rolled his eyes and let out a short chuckle before spinning her around by her shoulders.

“Look around before it gets dusty.” Her fingers anxiously fiddled with the new keys as she curiously wandered around the place.

Everything seemed to be perfectly put together, exactly how she would’ve wanted it if she were to have decorated it herself. The cushions of the plush couch placed along a wall were soft, not too hard or too fluffy. Similar to her own apartment, a coffee table sat in front of it with a rug laid beneath both.

The small kitchen was the cleanest one she had ever seen with its stainless steel refrigerator and marble countertops. A petite walk-in closet was built in at the end of the counter containing jars of spices and various bottles of oils and sauces. Penelope already had an array of dinners and desserts planned out in her head with everything already stocked.

She continued to the back of the room and plopped onto the queen bed that was tucked away, a somewhat bland dark oak bed frame complimenting it along with two nightstands with matching lamps. Her head turned to the side towards the bathroom, protected by a privacy window that slid open as opposed to a wall. With a glazed eye her head moved back up towards the ceiling with a lopsided grin.

“Ye like it?” She heard Liam’s footsteps grow louder until they stopped at the end of the bed.

“I could get used to this…” She mumbled more to herself before she spoke somewhat louder to Liam. “I don’t know if I want to go back.”

“Ye don’t have to.” She shuffled over to allow him room to lie down next to her, now both of them staring up at the ceiling. “It’s a closer walk to the shop.” He attempted to convince her.

“But more dangerous.”

“Not if ye have a car.”

“You know I don’t have a car.” He shrugged.

“Juss a thought.” They then sat in the quietness of it all, thinking to themselves. Now this was a common occurrence. The two of them basking in the other’s presence to ease the day’s tensions. The moments of silence they had when they first started talking were awkward, at least for Penelope. But Liam, as extroverted as he was, had a way of easily sparking up a conversation should things start to go awry. He was her opposite. Her compliment. Where she failed, he succeeded and vice versa. It was the reason their relationship had grown so quickly, Penelope came to realize.

They always learned from each other and grew to understand the other person’s side of things. For one, Penelope taught him how peaceful silence really could be if chosen at the right time. Liam, on the other hand, taught her the difference between being rude and standing up for herself. She was slower at learning than he was, but he never blamed her or grew frustrated with her for it.

Liam looked over at Penelope, examining her before he spoke. “I need ye to promise me somethin’, Penny.”

“Yeah?” She then turned her own head towards him.

“Ye can’t tell no one else ‘bout this place.” Penelope sat up on her right elbow in curiosity, Liam following suit.

“Why’s that?”

“I mean fer it to be a safe haven fer ye.” He watched her expression grow soft, glossy with parted lips as she gradually realized what he meant. “If anythin’ should happen, Penny. Anythin’. Ye call me and we’ll come straight here. Or just run, if need be. I’ll know soon enough and come lookin’ fer ye.”

“What about Emma?” He began shaking his head before she could even finish. It confused her, sure, but she knew that there was more to why he did this. There was a reason no one else could know, and even if she didn’t know why, she knew it was important. So she decided to comply and keep her mouth shut.

She turned onto her knees and hooked her arm around his neck, hugging him as best she could. She could feel him tense at first before he grew acquainted with the feeling and returned it. He heard a heavy sniff from where her head rested against his shoulder and he pulled back slightly to look at her. He quickly realized that she wasn’t crying because she was troubled, she was crying because she was grateful. She couldn’t remember the last time someone went to this great of a length for her happiness, her protection, since the accident. It filled her with a melancholic feeling that she just couldn’t ignore.

“I promise.” Penelope finally answered with a gentle smile as Liam brought a thumb up to brush away her tears.

“Ye hungry?”

[millywidow]

Candy Cane Lane (Day 2)

Prompt ~ Trying something new

Ship ~ None apply

Characters ~ Natasha Romanoff; Tony Stark. Mentioned Bruce banner and Steve Rogers

Warnings ~ None apply

AN / Part two for my Christmas story I wrote last year "Shot in time for Christmas"

FC - 1

-----

Take a trip down Candy Cane Lane with me

It's the cutest thing I swear you'll ever see

It's the best, so get dressed, I'll impress

You with the colours of the rainbow

Take a trip down Candy Cane Lane with me

It's so magical, let's go there in your dreams

It's the best, so get dressed, I'll impress

You with the lights in all their windows

Sia - Candy Cane Lane

----

There was never not any music playing in the Tower during December. There was always some sort of tune going. Most of the time, Tony chose the music. But over time, Bruce, Clint, and even Steve joined in.

Despite Natasha's newfound fondness for Christmas, she hadn't been immersed in the Christmas spirit long enough to be able to contribute. Not that anyone minded. They were all just happy she was planning to stay for Christmas this year.

Thor was away on Asgard, celebrating the Midwinter solstice with his blood family. His found family, the Avengers, had arranged a small 'Christmas' celebration before he left.

Apart from the abundance of merry and joyous music, decorations had also been arrayed throughout the many floors of Stark Tower. Unlike last year's embellishments, which were chaotic, to say the least. The decorations this year were ordered and meaningful.

There was no badly placed tinsel above the fireplace, which had most definitely fallen in and caused a miniature explosion. Everything had been placed in a way that had the least amount of potential risk. The redhead was certain that this year's Christmas would be without incident.

The days went on, and the magnificent tree never lost its appeal. Both Steve and Natasha had been caught staring at it with wonder.

Growing up poor, Steve never expected to live in a place with a real Christmas tree, especially with numerous baubles.

And to Natasha...the Christmas tree was a symbol of everything she ever wanted. The family. The happiness. The childlike feeling on Christmas morning. She hadn't experienced that feeling last year. She was too high on painkillers and such, that everything was just a blur. Still, the little she did remember was enough to make her excited for this year's celebration.

Her excitement only intensified when the 12-day-of-Christmas-movie-bonanza was brought into the light. Surprisingly, it was Steve who came up with the idea. He wanted to catch up on Christmas movies - so he could understand more references, and just for the fun of it - and Natasha was more than happy to have more content to further her Christmas education.

They had started with The Snowman then Scrooged, Die Hard (Thanks to Tony's endless begging), The Nightmare Before Christmas, and so on. In her opinion, the assassin thought most of the movies they watched were downright cringy and corny, but they all had the same themes. Family. Love. Christmas. And that, Natasha, could endure for an hour a day.

There were other ways she learnt about the culture of Christmas. Especially food. Mince pies, Gingerbread, Fruit cake etc. Natasha was never one for sweets, but she found that she had quite the soft spot for warm mince pies.

But her favourite Christmas food, by far, was the 'Candy Cane'

--------

After a tough workout, all Natasha wanted to do was get an ice-cold cup of water. Heading into the kitchen, she spotted two other bodies. Tony and Bruce. They must have been taking a break from the lab, she thought to herself.

Nodding her head in their direction, as a greeting, she continued into the room.

She didn't focus on anything the other two in the room were doing. She was too focused on getting her drink to notice.

Once the icey drink had cooled her entire body down, she turned to the guys. Bruce was sipping his drink, probably tea, reading some article in the newspaper. Tony, on the other hand, was holding...something, and swiping through his phone.

She stood there for a moment, trying to figure out what was in Tony's hand. It was red and white, in a weird shape. It almost looked like…

"Tony," she drawled slowly, trying to hide the uncertainty in her voice, "Why are you carrying a miniature walking stick?"

Bruce was the first to react, spitting out his tea all over the newspaper in his hands.

Tony was slower, taking an extra moment to make sure he heard correctly. Once he was certain he had just heard the redhead assassin ask him why he was holding a 'Mini walking stick' he turned to her. Giving her a look that perfectly embodied 'I'm SorrY wHaT?"

Noticing the clear social cues the two men were displaying, she continued on.

"Why are you holding a walking stick? It couldn't even help a mouse, it's so small."

Tony couldn't help the flabbergasted laugh that left his lips. It was so abstract to him, that someone could be over 25 years old, and be so clueless about Christmas traditions and candy. He understood why, obviously, a fucked up childhood mixed with a drastic change of culture will do that to a person. But still, it was the small moments like these that were the most memorable. The first of many this Christmas.

"Natasha, do you know what this is?" he asked not unkindly.

The woman in question did not respond verbally, just raised an eyebrow, encouraging him to continue.

"This," he held the candy cane up higher. "This is a candy cane."

The blunt explanation was exactly that, blunt. It also did not give Natasha the much-needed information that she desired.

"Right...because that explains everything," she laughed softly, looking around at the other occupants of the room, expecting them to also find it amusing, but they were not. Bruce and Steve - who had entered the kitchen in time to catch the end of their conversation - were giving her the same look that Tony was. A look of pitied amusement.

"Nat, that's a candy cane. It's a type of Christmas treat that most kids enjoy," Steve adds, filling in the blanks.

Tony butts back into the conversation before the assassin can even respond. "Adults enjoy it as well, there is no ageism in my tower," the genius remarks childishly, but in a good manner.

"Here try one," Tony adds, throwing the small confectionary across the room. Natasha caught it with practised ease.

Following Tony's lead, she opens the wrapper and lifts it up to her mouth. Once the candy is firmly between her teeth, she gives it a hard bite. The end of the cane breaks off in her mouth and the prominent aroma of peppermint fills her mouth.

"No. No. No. No. No. You can't bite it. You have to suck it. Otherwise, it gets in your teeth and it's really annoying.

Listening to the philanthropist's advice, the assassin changed her tactics and sucked the candy instead. She would have to agree. It was much more enjoyable to suck than to bite.

--------

That night, as they were watching yet another Christmas movie, Tony placed a large bowl of candy canes in the centre of the coffee table. It was safe to say that the assassin had her fair share of candy canes that day.

--------

AN / Why did the last 100 words sound like food porn. As I was writing this, all I could think was "THAT'S WHAT SHE SAID" I am so immature, I apologise. Like...I am so sorry.

-------

Question of the day: Do you suck or bite your candy canes?

[tera-vadai]

Hello, my dear friend.Uhm.. you think you can write about comfort TDBKDK, after the current events of the manga? ThXs <:O

[Placed during the hospital arc, post-war events]:

That day the sun is nowhere to be seen, and instead, a closed gray sky spreads up above and as far as where the eye is capable to see. Dark clouds cluster together forming an impenetrable wall for the light of day to pass. A fitting (and ironic) sight for such grim times.

In the distance, a thunderous roar makes a harsh announcement.

It will rain soon.

He doesn't care though, his mind having more pending and cruel things to think about, so he stands in the hospital's rooftop, his mismatched gaze fixed in an invisible (and unreachable) point on the horizon.

The time passes, minutes, hours probably, it's all surreal, but Shouto just stays there, motionless and in silent contemplation. 

Alone.

The city extends before him, busy civilians walking to catch the bus, honking cars stuck on the traffic. At first it appears that nothing has changed, but with a closer look one can see that that's not true at all. Things are more silent now, almost no heroes can be seen patrolling the streets; the people move cautiously, constantly checking their surroundings, like if they were expecting something bad to happen in any moment.

Given the recent events, those fears are justified, no place can be considered safe anymore. What happened that day has unleashed a chain reaction of unpredictable events that worsens with each passing day. This chaotic nightmare doesn’t seem to have an end... 

Another thunder is heard, and more sooner than later, the rain droplets begin to fall mercilessly, concealing the tears he hadn't realized he was shedding.

Still, he doesn't care. He doesn't have the energy to do so, not when his family's past has already been exposed in the way it did, all those wicked secrets laying now in the open, available for everyone to see, for everyone to judge... He can’t stop to rest knowing that his older brother has become a murderous villain and is somewhere out there, contributing to the crumble of the world...

Shouto is at a loss, not knowing what to do... what can he do...

(Can things even be fixed at this point?)

He looks at his bandaged hands, felling useless, powerless, and choking back a sob, he slowly falls to his knees, overwhelmed by the many dreadful thoughts that plague his mind, and that, at times, appear to be slowly pushing him to insanity...

The water feels cold against his skin, that sensation helps to keep him centered and (partially) aware of his surroundings, but that doesn’t help to lessen the pain nor solace his silent despair.

It’s until he doesn’t feel the rain hitting his body anymore when he finally realizes that at some point he stopped being alone. An umbrella now covers his form, shielding him from the rain.

"If you stay like this, you’ll catch a damn cold," the blond boy before him reproaches.

“Sorry, it’s just... I... I need a moment," Shouto answers quietly, his eyes still glued to the floor.

“We know,“ a green-haired figure joins them, and crouches besides the bicolored boy, “but you were taking a bit, so we decided to come and check on you,” he informs, gently placing a hand on Shouto’s shoulder.

That gesture is enough to finally make him raise his gaze, and face his friends. Yet for a moment, the touch almost makes Shouto flinch, his blood mildly boiling when he remembers the hurt caused by the deception of the person he had trusted so much into, but almost inmediatly he dismisses all those poisonous thoughts. He is tired of arguing. 

At this point, so many revelations have drained him. The conversation of a few days back is still haunting him, more negative emotions that have piled up inside of him. He discovered he got lied, and in response he shouted, he got angry, he may have punched a wall or two, and he also cried. 

(These days he has been crying a lot, hasn't he?)

Still, once explained, he was able to understand his friend’s actions, and seeing the worry and the honest regret in Izuku’s eyes made the negative feelings go away almost entirely. After all, he couldn’t be mad at him forever. Not when they needed each other more than ever.

“I’m as fine as I can be.“ 

That clearly means he is not okay, and he can tell that his friends have noticed. But he also knows that everyone is hurting, not only him. The war has affected all of them, so he considers it selfish to burden his friends with more worry because of his fault.

"You don’t need to be here... you’ll get sick too," he offers, as if with that excuse he could get them to leave.

But obviously they stay.

"You are fucking crazy if you think you can get rid of us, because we are not going anywhere without you,” the blond announces, “we are not going to leave you alone.”

Izuku nods, supporting the motion, "We promised it, didn’t we?"

"We are here."

"With you."

A lump forms in Shouto’s throat, and his eyes get wet, (because he knows that this time their words are sincere). With no more secrets between them, and having to face a world full of uncertainties, it’s reassuing to know that he can trust in them, and that they can trust in him.

He tries to wipe the tears that blur his vision. There’s so many things he wants to say, to thank his friends, to express how much he appretiates their support (and company), but his voice breaks before he can do it, and his next attempt is interrupted by a hug from the freckled boy. Then Bakugou crouches too, joining them, and soflty begins to ruffle the crying boy’s hair. 

"You are kind persons too, you know?"

Shouto is not alone, none of them are, they have each other. They are together in this.

And that’s the most important thing that they must engrave in their mind if they want to fix the mess that has put the world upside down.

(Because after the rain, the sun always shine again).

--🍰💥🥦--

I have been working on this since when we were right at the start of the hospital arc in the manga and still ignored... so many things, so this drabble contains many speculation I had at the time and, as a consequence, doesn’t exactly match the canon events (something I have decided to partiatly ignore as well), so, this is my take had the post-war events in the hospital had happened differently, but still, I hope you can enjoy this little re-imagined thingy, and also, I apologize for taking so long to complete your request @weny4r ;-;💔

Now, talking about the manga, I think comfort TDBKDK is right what we need in these trying times 🤧🥺 Thank you so much for your request ^^💖

[spaceskam]

Follow up to this ❤️ special thanks to ul1tsa on ao3 for idea!

ao3

Warnings: talk Jesse and his bullshit & bombs

Michael waited a few weeks before he got drunk and lost that thing in his brain that kept him from doing dumb shit.

He went to the cabin and unlocked the door with his key. He didn't usually use keys, he had one in his brain, but there was something about having a key to Alex's place that felt special. Besides, he needed to make sure that's actually what it was. He pushed the door open and tried the light switches. The bulb on the porch was out. He'd need to get a new one.

He slowly navigated around the space, making a list of tiny things that were bothersome. He didn't even know if he was welcome here... But why else would Alex give him a key?

It was a two bedroom and had a bathroom that connected the two rooms. The kitchen was small and it didn't have a washing machine or dryer. The living room was old. None of it looked like Alex. What exactly would Alex's space even look like? He'd figure it out.

He went back outside to the wrap around porch, walking around it slowly and holding onto the rail. There were a few old boards that could stand being replaced. There was a window unit in each bedroom. He didn't figure it'd be too hard to change that for a central air system.

Michael went back inside and towards the kitchen. The refrigerator was unplugged, so he moved it to plug it back in. The cabinets were empty aside from some old canned beans and a single pan. He went back to the living room.

The couch was even more uncomfortable than he remembered, hard and a little dusty. He sat down anyway and rubbed his hand over it. When he laid down and breathed in, it didn't smell like Alex. It was unfair. Cruel, even.

He laid there anyway, lulling himself to sleep with the memory of Alex's skin.

-

It became a thing.

When his mind got chaotic and he needed something to do with his hands, he'd go to the cabin. He replaced boards, cleaned, hooked up a washing machine and dryer. After a couple months, he bought a comfier couch from an old lady who was selling it. He took down the hunting memoribillia and tried to find things that Alex might like. A couple trinkets bought during a trip to the nearby reservation, a painting bought from an artist who showed her work at the renaissance festival, and a hand-woven blanket from an older lady who traveled all the way from the Navajo Nation to sell the two she made a month at the market–and then vowed that he would never pay that much money for anything ever again.

He started spending more time there than he spent at his airstream and, after passing out on the couch after spending his entire day off trying to set up a central air system, he decided it might be worth buying food. So he did. He bought a few things, added three extra locks to the front and back doors, and brought his thrifted silverware and dishes from the airstream to set up a place for himself there.

It was slowly coming together. It felt like a home. He bought a broom.

He didn't tell Isobel or Max about any of this, they didn't need to know about Alex. Instead, Michael kept it to himself and spun lies about where he was whenever they asked questions. Usually they didn't. He was Michael, after all, it wasn't that odd for him to drop off the map.

He eventually started fixing up the bedrooms which were a little harder. It looked too much like a middle aged man stayed there and that was absolutely not the look he was going for. He got new bedspreads and sheets from a discount store and matching bedside tables from the dump that only needed some sanding and some finish to make nice. A new showerhead made out of things he found around the junkyard fit nice too. He played with the water heater until it stopped needing to be manually reset every 60 gallons, sanded and put finish on the dresser, built a new bed frame and headboard out of scrap wood, and fixed the janky doorknob of the closet. It looked livable now.

Alex's birthday came around and he didn't have a number to reach him, so Michael did something a little stupid and a little sentimental and found himself at a thrift store. He bought a set of two identical rocking chairs for the back porch. He almost threw them out three times, but he decided on leaving them there and just ignoring them until he stopped feeling like they were too much.

There was something about the cabin as it came together that both felt like home and like it was far  too sacred to make a mess of. He kept it cleaner than he'd ever kept a place before. The dishes were always done, his dirty clothes always ended up in the laundry basket, never let himself get drunk enough that he'd be compelled to make a mess, and he swept and mopped every Sunday. His shampoo and body wash didn't leave rings in the bathtub.

It was nice.

-

It was about a year into renovating and six months into practically moving in when he found a broken telecision in the junkyard that someone had dropped.off. Curiosity got the best of him and he found himself trying to make it work in his free time. There was a strange sense of pride when he plugged it in and it turned on, the picture only slightly tinted blue and the sound as perfect as the speakers would allow. He wrapped it up in a couple blankets and loaded it into his truck, stopping by a thrift store on the way to the cabin to buy a few interesting DVDs for 50¢ a piece. He couldn't remember the last time he actively sat down to watch a movie for fun.

It took about thirty minutes to mount it above the fireplace, but eventually it was up and he found himself smiling as he put in a shitty mid-2000s straight-to-DVD teen movie. It played easily and he smiled wider. If there was one thing fixing up the cabin did, it was make him smile. It felt good to fix things up.

Michael grabbed a beer that was beside the leftovers in the fridge and settled on the couch, kicking his shoes off and pulling a blanket onto his lap. His phone was on the coffee table and charging with an alarm queued up to wake him up for work in the morning .It was the most normal he'd ever felt and he never wanted to give it back.

And it seemed like he wouldn't have to until the door creaked open.

Michael shot to his feet, standing like he was caught red handed as Alex stepped inside. He was still in uniform, a duffle bag hanging off his shoulder. His eyes were wide with wonder, though, as he looked around at all the shit Michael had done. It was the first time he regretted it.

"I'm sorry," Michael blurred out, catching Alex's attention, "I should've asked. I shouldn't have changed shit and I shouldn't have stayed here, I'm sorry, I'll go."

"Guerin, relax," Alex said, smiling in a pure way that Michael hadn't seen since they were seventeen, "I knew you were staying here."

"You did?" Michael asked skeptically.

"Yeah," he said, carefully putting down the duffle bag and closing the door, "Electric bill?"

Michael's eyes widened. "Oh, fuck, I forgot about that, I'm so sorry."

"Guerin," Alex laughed, "Stop. I'm happy you're staying here. I don't mind, really."

Michael swallowed and tried to believe him when he said he was happy. Because Michael was happy. Happy to be here, happy to see Alex, happy to see where tonight led. He tapped his hands against his thighs as Alex took another look around.

"I didn't expect all this, though," Alex breathed.

"It's, uh, not all of it. I can show you around?" Michael offered awkward. Alex smiled wider and nodded.

So Michael gave him a tour of his own house. He showed him the kitchen, the bathroom, the bedroom, and how the locks on the doors worked. Alex put the duffle bag in the closet and gently touched Michael's shirt that was hanging in there like he didn't believe it was actually there. Michael stood with his hands clasped behind his back and rocked up on his toes as Alex felt over the headboard he made and the blanket on the bed. He shook his head, looking over at Michael.

"I can't... I can't believe you did all of this," Alex said, looking at him. He wasn't smiling anymore. Instead, he looked like he was about to cry.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to–"

"Michael," he cut him, laughing softly as he came closer. He touched his arm, his hand sliding up as he moved in closer and draped his arms around Michael's neck. Michael rested his hands on his hips. "I love it so much. But it's so much. How much did you spend? Let me pay you back."

"No, don't. Most of it's stuff I fixed from broken stuff or I got for super cheap, I barely spent $300 over the last year," he said. He purposefully left out what he spent on the more decorative things, those could simply be gifts from all the birthdays he missed.

"Still," Alex said, swallowing hard as he reached out and touched Michael's cheek. Michael leaned into it. He hadn't realized how successful he'd been at distracting himself from missing Alex until then. "This is all so nice. I-I don't even know what to say. I didn't expect this at all."

"I mean... I just didn't like that it looked like an angry old man lived here, I get enough of that with Sanders," Michael said. He was struggling to see what about the dumb little things made Alex emotional. In fact, they were selfish. He wanted to pretend Alex wasn't a million miles away. That was as selfish as it got. But Alex laughed and kissed him and Michael stopped feeling guilty.

"Thank you," Alex gushed against his lips, "Thank you, thank you, thank you."

Everything about this was completely contrary to Alex's last visit home. It wasn't confusing or blurry and he felt safe. He felt loved. He clung to Alex and kissed him hard, trying to quench the desperate, overwhelming feeling in his stomach.

"I gotta take a shower, I'm gross from that fucking plane and I need to be clean for the things I  wanna do to you," Alex breathed, pulling away just a little. Michael nodded, going in for another kiss anyway. Alex giggled and leaned back. "It'll be quick, I promise."

"I worked all day, I need one too, so let me join?" Michael asked. Pleaded, really. He didn't want to let go.

"Good idea," Alex said, "Do you have a security system set up?"

"It's next on my list," Michael said honestly. Alex grinned, cupping his cheek in his hand and slowly starting to pull him to the bathroom.

"Good boy."

-

"Can I tell you something?"

"Anything and you know it."

Alex huffed a laugh and rolled his eyes, staring up at the ceiling. Michael loved seeing him like that. His hair was slightly past regulation, laying on his forehead and smashed against the pillow. After a long shower and stumbling into bed, they'd finally wore themselves out. Now they were in bed in Alex's house.

Their house.

Alex shifted to face him, face a little too serious consider the circumstances. Michael slowly faded to seriousness to fit it. Alex reached out, fingers grazing Michael's cheek and down his neck, over his shoulder, down to his torn up hand. Michael very quickly got serious and watched him pull his hand up to his lips.

"It's embarassing," Alex said.

"Since when have I been known to judge you?" Michael asked, stretching his leg out to wedge between Alex's. Alex parted his knees just enough to lock their legs together.

"I just... I've been thinking about my dad," Alex whispered.

"Uh oh," Michael said, trying to lighten the mood. Alex rolled his eyes.

"I've been trying to work through all my issues, I guess, since I realized you were staying here. I want this to work, you know?" Alex said and Michael was all ears, "And I think I didn't realize he was a bad guy until I saw him do this."

"What do you mean?" Michael said before he could process if that was a smart thing to ask.

"Like, I spent so many years thinking that my mom was the bad one because she left and at least my dad was there. It didn't matter if he beat me as long as he was there," Alex explained. Michael didn't really understand, but, with all the things they felt that overlapped, it was fine if he didn't understand that one thing. "And I... Even when I rebelled, I just wanted his approval. Part of me still does. I think I always will. Which is stupid because all the attention he gives me is solely on his terms, especially when it's positive."

"He's not worth it."

"I know," Alex said, smiling slightly before he kissed his hand again, "Logically, I know. But illogically... I'm still trying to remind myself he's a bad guy. It just took me so long to see it."

Michael didn't say anything, simply nodded and let Alex touch him as he needed to keep himself calm. Whatever kept him in bed, kept him in their space. He didn't know how long Alex was going to be home and he was too scared to ask, so he didn't.

"But, I'm trying," Alex sighed, looking at him in the eyes. He was so intense with every look and sometimes Michael felt compelled to look away, but not in moments like this. Never in moments like this. "I don't want to mess this up by trying to please him."

"I don't wanna fuck up either."

"I think we're on a good track, though," Alex smiled, tightening his legs and tugging Michael impossibly close. Just where he wanted to be. "Off topic, but I'm hungry."

Michael laughed softly and was incredibly thankful for a subject change. "I have leftover pasta in the fridge if you want that."

Alex smiled ridiculously wide for something as meaningless as day old pasta.

"Leftovers," Alex repeated in a whimsical tone, "You're gonna make a good little househusband."

"Shut the fuck up," Michael laughed, shoving his shoulder. Alex laughed right back and moved to get up. Michael followed suit without question. There was no way he was leaving his side.

"Let's eat."

-

Michael woke up to his alarm and an empty bed.

Panic struck him and he thought about calling out for Alex, but his voice wouldn't work as if subconsciously knowing the answer. Terrified, even. He slowly pushed himself out of bed, pulling on a pair of jeans. Dread continued to pool in him as he tiptoed out of the room and into the empty living room. But it smelled like coffee which was definitely a good sign.

It took him only a few seconds to see that Alex was out on the back porch in one of the rocking chairs. His heart seemed to skip a beat or two or four. The sun hit his shirtless body perfectly and he seemed to fucking glow. Michael had to take a few deep breaths before he stepped outside.

""Morning," Alex hummed, looking over at him. His hair was still a mess, but he looked better rested than Michael had seen him in a long time.

"I thought you left," he said stupidly. Alex shook his head.

"I can't really sleep in anymore and I didn't wanna wake you up. Sorry if I scared you."

"It's okay," he said. And it really, really was. This was the perfect sight to see in the morning and it made him angry at Sanders for employing him. "I, uh, I have to go to work. I can call in, though."

"Don't," Alex said with a warm smile, "I'll be here when you get home."

Michael felt his whole body heat up at that. Home. Alex would be here. He wasn't sure he would actually believe it until he saw it.

"Yeah, uh," Michael said, clearing his throat, "How-how, like, how long are you..."

"Michael," Alex said, standing up and walking closer. Michael was going to melt if he kept saying his name. Alex kept his mug firmly in one hand and touched his cheek with the other. "I'm home for a month."

"A month," Michael breathed. Alex smiled and nodded, leaning forward to kiss him. It sounded like a short period of time, but it would be longest consecutive time they'd ever spent together. Ever. It sounded fake.

"So, go to work. I'm not going anywhere," he promised. It was hard to listen, but he did.

And you know what? Alex was home when he got there that afternoon.

-

"Where the fuxk are you living?"

"Airstream."

Michael spoke casually as Isobel stood by his feet as he worked on the car. He knew it was wrong to lie to her about something like this, but, fuck, he was barely sure this was real himself. He'd woken up to Alex for three whole weeks and he only had one left. He wasn't wasting that time and he wasn't bursting his domestic bubble.

"Stop lying to me! You haven't lived at the airstream for months now," Isobel argued, "You're never here at night and if I call you, it takes you for fucking ever to get to my house. Where are you staying?"

He sighed, trying to ignore her more and more. It didn't work very well as she stood her ground and basically decided she would follow him when he left work if he didn't tell her.

"It's a cabin outside of town, okay?" he caved, deciding on a half-truth. He didn't need to say it was Alex's.

"A cabin?" Isobel asked skeptically, "And you just haven't told me or shown me? What if something happens? I need to know where to find you, Michael."

"Fine, fine, okay?" he sighed, "Just, give me a week. It's a fucking wreck."

"You promise?" she asked. He nodded. "Good."

If he couldn't keep his home a secret, he could at least keep Alex to himself for a little while. He could deal with that later. In a week, his house would be empty. In a week, his bed would be empty.

He could deal with her then.

-

The bed was a lot of colder than he remembered.

-

January 30th, 2017 at 21:45.

Or, at least that's when Michael found out. The actual event happened on the 26th, a bombing injuring 30 Airmen and killing 3. There wasn't an article about it and he didn't receive a call. Instead, when he was stalking one of the mothers of a guy in Alex's group, he saw she posted about the bombing and saying her son was one of the lucky ones and thanking God. Michael nearly had a breakdown.

He spent the next hour calling Alex and when that didn't work, he started calling down a list of military hospitals. He found him eventually at Landstuhl and had to lie about being his brother to get him on the phone along with a warning about him being drugged up. But at least he was alive.

"Alex?" Michael whispered. Once again, he found him scared that Alex wouldn't answer. But he's spent an hour panicking and he wasn't about to just not talk.

"Huh?" Alex said, voice hoarse. Michael closed his eyes, bowing his head. It was small, but it was something.

"Hey," Michael croaked, doing his best not to cry. He wanted to go see him. He couldn't. It didn't work that way. As nice as it was when they pretended they didn't have a care in they world, they did have a care. His name was Jesse Manes. Not to mention the giant alien hole he hadn't even told Alex about... "You scared me."

"Sorry," Alex said. Michael breathed in deep.

"No, it's okay. How are you feeling?"

"Tired," he whined, "I wanna see you "

Michael looked up, blinking away tears as quick as he could. It was difficult, but he managed it. He could cry later.

"I know, I wanna see you too. Maybe you can come home soon and I can," Michael suggested. Alex hummed a noncommittal tune. "So, uh, what all happened? Did you get, um, get burned or something?"

"A little," Alex said. Michael swallowed harshly. "Hey, you know what they did? They took my leg."

Michael's breath caught in his throat.

"What?"

"My leg," Alex repeated, that sort of dazed tone in his voice, "Couldn't save it, had to go."

Michael didn't know what to say. He didn't know how he was supposed to react to this. There wasn't a handbook. Instead of letting himself react like he was the one who lost something, he fed off of Alex's tone.

"How do you feel about that?" Michael asked. Alex hummed.

"My foot itched all day and there was nothing to scratch."

Michael huffed a laugh, rubbing the hell of his hand beneath his eyes to try to get rid of the tears.

"Well, if that's the worst of it, sounds like you're doing good."

"They gave me so many drugs," Alex told him, yawning halfway through. Michael smiled and nodded even though he couldn't see him. "I'm tired."

"Do you want me to let you go to sleep?" Michael asked. Alex didn't answer and that felt like an answer enough. "I'll call you tomorrow, okay?"

"Mhm."

"I love you so much," Michael said. He didn't think about it, he just said it. It needed to be said.

"Mhm."

Michael huffed another laugh again, "Goodnight, Alex."

He ended the call and looked around the house that he'd spent over a year of his life renovating. He tried to picture Alex in it again, a version of Alex who might need accessibilities he didn't think of when he did things the first time around.

And now he had new projects.

-

Turns out it was pretty easy to widen doorways.

It took Michael about two days to widen one Interior door, ripping off the door frame and sawing through the wall itself. He widened them all from 30" to 38" in width and felt thankful that the exterior doors were all double doors. He didn't even know if Alex would be using a wheelchair, but it felt like a safe option regardless.

He ripped out the tub from the bathroom, replacing it with one with a little more traction on the bottom. He installed bars all around the bathroom and a wooden seat that was attached to the wall so it could fold up or down when he needed it. 

Again, he found himself taking a lap around the porch to check for any loose boards or nails. He fixed any that even might've been questionable. It gave him the idea to add ramps beside the steps to the porch. He built them and jumped on them as hard as he could go make sure they didn't break.

It helped when he got angry–ngry at something, angry at nothing, angry at everything–to put things back together again. It made him feel useful even when phone calls consisted of Alex being short with him and hanging up. He was focusing on PT and learning how to use a prosthetic and Michael knew it was frustrating. He could hear it in his voice even when he refused to talk about it. He always refused to talk about it. Some days he refused to talk at all.

He refused to let it out distance between them.

On extra bad days, Michael would drink and Google random accessibility ideas. He knew Alex. As sweet as he thought his renovating for him was, he knew Alex would be too stubborn to ask him for help on anything. He wanted to make it so he didn't have to as much as possible. Open spaces, all but gluing the rug down, a bench at the foot of the bed, a chair in the bathroom, a stool with wheels in the kitchen, sanding down the sharp edges of the kitchen table, dumb shit that might help maybe once.

He was trying because Alex was trying. They still wanted to make this work.

And they were going to no matter what.

[writefightandflightclub]

It’s Complicated (Llewyn Davis x reader)

Summary: It’s a chilly autumn morning, and reader is studying in the apartment, waiting for Llewyn to wake. The relationship? Complicated. The topics? Complicated. But Llewyn is a soothing presence all the same, especially when he sings for you.

Author’s note: I’m doing soft blurbs this week bc you all deserve a hug from one of our fave fictional husbands. Let’s all destress and be comforted one blurb at a time, okay? (I’m doing these quickly so I can complete as many as I can for you, so they’ll be a bit scrappy, please forgive!) Ok, turns out I LOVE writing melancholy, autumnal Llewyn? Who knew? And I like how this turned out!

Song: I imagine him singing Karen’s Dalton’s Something on Your Mind for you, because it’s melancholy and it reminds you of him. 

Warnings: it’s fluff, sweeties, with mentions of smoking / cigs, couch-surfing.

GIF by @realoscarisaac

Your head feels full. You’re not sure you can cram any more in there. You huddle over the books on the desk, wrapping your worn, cosy cardigan more tightly around yourself to guard off the late autumn chill of your apartment.

You look down at the page with a sigh, closing your eyes for a minim as the symbols seem to blur before you. Time for a break, perhaps. You concede, setting your pen down to flex your cramped-up hand, massaging over the callouses on your fingers which have developed from so much note-taking.

The roughness of your typically soft hands reminds you of Llewyn. Of the callouses formed on his deft guitarist’s hands from plucking and strumming. The way his roughened hands have a gentle scent of loose tobacco and metal when they cup your face. It shouldn’t be pleasant, but it is, somehow.

Somehow, it is.

Distracted, you glance over to his figure, still sleeping late on your couch, shadowed and illuminated by the slatted blinds. 

Llewyn.

It’s... complicated.

Despite the fact you’ve shared some... choice embraces, you can never quite coax him into your bed to sleep. Can never coax him into defining what he is to you, or you to him. He comes and goes from your sky like an unreliable moon; sometimes his face is full and shining for you, but mostly it is shrouded.

Llewyn doesn’t know how to move forward -only in circles- and yet you are grateful any time he cycles back to your door, stuck in this endless loop while you strive to study and carve a path for yourself. 

Your eyes wander over his profile, and you smile softly at the sight of such a sleeping beauty. Then, you tread softly towards the open-plan kitchen, your slippers shuffling against the wooden floorboards.

You set the water to boil, shoving your hands in the pockets of your cardigan, which Llewyn sometimes borrows when he is chilled to the bone. You find a telltale packet of filters buried deeply in the pocket which show he’s been at it again. You smile to yourself, holding this tangible sign of him in your grip for a moment. You like finding traces of him, and lately you find them more and more throughout your apartment as each stay extends a little longer.

The bubbling and soft howl from the kettle wakes Llewyn gently, and he throws the crook of his elbow over his eyes as he stirs, squinting as his eyes adjust.

There’s always that recognisable moment of confusion on his face when he first wakes. A slight jump in his body and a quick scan of the room; likely, while he tries to remember where the devil he slept last night.

His eyes settle on your figure as you lean up against the counter edge, your back to the cabinets. You’ve been caught-out watching him, but you don’t try to hide it, and he looks right back out of one opened eye.

Whenever Llewyn sees you upon waking, you imagine the faint flicker of a smile on his face. You wonder whether he’s glad to find himself waking up with you. Musicians dream of a life on the road, don’t they? But not like this. Not cycling through apartments within a 4-block radius. You wish you could be home to him. You’re so determined to study and realise your dreams, and oh, you wish he could have his too. You wish you could build a dream together. Would, if he wanted to.

You never want him to leave.

You turn to pour him a coffee as he continues to shrug off sleep, setting it down gently on a stool beside him once it’s brewed. He stretches his arms above his head, yawning emphatically.

“Morning,” you greet fondly.

“Morning,” he greets back, and to your surprise he wraps the rough pads of his fingers around your wrist as you saunter past him, sitting-up to bring your hand towards his lips and to plant a small quaver of a kiss to your pulse point.

He looks up at you forlornly, before burying his head into your stomach, his thighs opening so you can stand in between his legs as he wraps his arms around your waist. He holds you tightly.

A rest.

Llewyn? It’s... complicated.

You hold him in turn, tussling then soothing his crotchet black hair as he rests his face against your belly. You squeeze and release, and when he lets go you imagine the faintest hint of a smile at his lips again, curving like a slurred note.

Wordlessly, you settle yourself back into your desk chair and rebury your head in your books as, behind you, Llewyn throws off his blanket and treads to the bathroom in nothing but his white tee and patterned boxes.

You are vaguely aware of distant clattering and running water, until padding footsteps signal his presence in the room again. 

“Somewhere to be today?” you ask without turning, scribbling down some notes as you hear him redressing in his clothes from the pile they form on your floor.

“Yep. Busy day. Walking around,” he says despondently. He has nowhere to be then. You know, therefore, that what he really means is: “Getting out of your way while you study.”

You turn towards him as he perches back down on the couch, beginning to pull on his worn shoes.

“Stay. It’s better when you’re here.”

Stay, Llewyn.

He looks up at you, eyes surprised as they connect with yours. Surprised as if no-one has said anything quite so kind to him in a long time.

“Easier to study,” you backtrack. It’s complicated, after all. “Your presence it’s relaxing.”

You don’t tell him how you have come to loathe his absence.

He looks outside at the cold, considering it. He looks at the warmth in your eyes, considering it. Then, he opts to stay.

“Ok,” he says plainly, his curls falling over his forehead slightly less despondently than usual, you imagine. 

You turn back to your books, the faintest hint of a smile on your own lips now. With a second wind, you read greedily through some more of your textbook, hearing Llewyn intermittently slurping his coffee behind you.

His presence really is relaxing. He’s slow and easy and never frantic. Familiar, like a folk song. He was never new to you and he’ll never get old. He’s home.

“How’s the studying going?” he enquires gently, in his smoky, sleep bedraggled voice.

Your lips quirk up at the parallels. “It’s... complicated.” You guess your love life is a lot like organic chemistry, in that sense.  

“You’ll make it,” he reassures. “I know you’re gonna make it.”

“And so will you, Llewyn,” you add to counter the evident implication.

Llewyn huffs out air -pfft- in well-rehearsed protest at your sentiment, but he doesn’t bite back, like usual. You hope he’s starting to believe you.

You would build a dream together, if he wanted to. You’d make it together, you know it. 

You hear him set the cup down, and absent-mindedly you begin drumming your pen on the desk.

“Would some music help you study, angel?” Llewyn asks, coming alive along with the rhythm. You hear the chaotic thrum of guitar strings as he reclines on the sofa, settling the instrument on top of his stomach, already having guessed at how you’ll respond. 

“Yes. please,” you say, turning you head towards him for a moment and delivering him a bashful smile.

He’s called you angel before, but usually only in the depths of the night. Or, in a smoke-shrouded Gaslight when you offer him a couch for the night once he’s run out of options. Never like this, his face shining.

He picks out the rhythm of the song you were batting your pen to -one of your favourite records- and begins gently strumming the chords.

It’s better when you’re here, Llewyn. Stay.

“Song for my genius,” he says, and your heart swells like a chorus when he calls you his.

More pages and notes of both kinds flow, along with time, as the soothing sounds of Llewyn playing spur you on.

Eventually, he starts to sing-along, filling the chords you hadn’t realised were so empty until his voice furnished them - just like he’d filled your heart even though you hadn’t realised that was empty too, before him.

You can’t help but set your pen down again to listen to him. Absent-mindedly, you massage the callouses of your hand once you’ve done so and it reminds you of him. Makes you think of his rough yet nimble fingers on those strings.

You turn towards him, and this time you look at him forlornly. It is you who shuffles your chair closer to him where he lays, scooping up his wrist to plant a quaver of a kiss on his pulse point.

Your eyes rest on each other’s for a minim. Four beats of your heart, although it picks up in tempo the longer your eyes connect. 

A faint smile passes over Llewyn’s face as he brings his hand to cup your face. His fingers smell like loose tobacco and metal, and it shouldn’t be pleasant but it is, somehow. Somehow, it is.

You and Llewyn?

It’s... complicated, but you wouldn’t have it any other way, because you know that eventually, you will solve it. 

Right now, though, his face is shining at you like the moon, and you believe what he said; that you’re going to make it. You believe him, ‘cause it’s better when he’s here, and you think you can even coax him to stay, to build your dream together. 

[wolf-zer0]

whisper and thorn

cross-posted to ao3: whisper and thorn

He doesn’t have a name.  At least, not one he could remember.  He tried, sometimes, to shift through memories.  Tried to grasp something, anything, that wasn’t static.  That wasn’t painful.  Nothing sticks.  Nothing stays.

Nothing but the forest.

He doesn’t have a name, but he does have the forest.  It is always moving, always changing, always living.  He feels the forest under his skin, thrumming through his veins.  He feels every fallen tree, every shift in the earth, every thing that enters and exists.  

He doesn’t have a home, not like he sees others have.  Instead of four walls of stone and wood, he has towering mountains and trees.  Instead of a roof, he has the vast canopy of green leaves.  He likes green.  The torn and tattered remains of fabric stretched across thin shoulders are green.  Green is home.  

He doesn’t have a family.  He may have.  Once.  But not anymore.  The first thing he can remember is the shell of a house, empty and smoldering.  There wasn’t anyone else there.  He was alone.  He is alone.  But he’s not.  He has the forest.

The forest sings to him.  He hears crescendo of berries and fruits as they ripen to sweet perfection.  He hears the bubbling rush of fresh water tumbling from high atop the mountain.  He hears the dim percussion, the heart of the earth itself beneath his bare feet, matching the rhythm of the beat in his chest.  

He hears the dissonant pounding of footsteps. Crouched on a log, fingertips fiddling with the decaying bark, his head tilts in the direction he hears it from.

There’s a child running through the trees, laughter ringing through the clear summer air.  

He’s seen children before.  He thinks he is a child.  But don’t children have families?  Homes?  He doesn’t, so he’s not sure.  He stares at the newcomer, confused.  Where did he come from?

The newcomer stops, back towards him.  He turns.

And looks right at him.

For a moment, the forest is silent.  There’s no music, no movement, nothing.  Just a single note, high and unwavering, like the dark brown eyes of this new boy.  

There’s something scratching at the back of his head, trying to tell him something, but he doesn’t listen.  

The note breaks.  He runs.  He thinks the boy shouts at him, but he doesn’t care to listen.  He doesn’t want to listen.  He just wants the forest.  

He doesn’t mean to see the boy again.  In fact, he makes it his goal not to see him again.  His ears are strained at all times, listening for any change, any shift in the life of the forest.  A sudden call of birds.  The rustling of grass.  Anything.  It works.  Until it doesn’t.

He should have remembered the traps.  The angry metallic hum pierces the chaotic calm of the forest.  But he’s so focused on listening for the boy, he misses the sound of the wire and metal as it tightens around his foot.  

He falls with a yelp, chin pressing into the earth painfully as his leg is wrenched upward unnaturally.  He scrambles to free himself, fingers digging at his ankle, to no avail.  

The forest falls away as he is dragged upward.  His skin feels too big, empty space left in his bones where movement once was.  He can’t feel it.  He can’t feel it.  Hecan’tfeelithecan’tfeelithecan’tfeelit-

He doesn’t hear the boy this time, though the boy still makes no effort to mask his movements.  Panic clouds his vision, clogs his hearing.  He catches a faint buzzing just beyond his awareness as a featherlight touch brushes the wire.  He jerks once.  His breath catches and tears build as the metal tightens.  The buzzing remains, oddly comforting in its consistency.  

The hold on his ankle releases, and he tumbles to the dirt in a heap.  His chest is heaving, barely able to breathe, and tears cover his face.  His eyes blur and all he can see is color.  Green, green, green, green —

Brown.  He only sees brown.  Brown that morphs into dark hair, leaves and twigs caught in the mess.  Brown that shifts into dark eyes, warm with concern and care.  Brown that solidifies into the boy.  The boy who he was afraid of— was saved by.  

The boy’s mouth moves, noises spilling from his mouth like the waterfall’s he used to sleep near.  It makes no sense to him, and yet it does.  He knows it the same way he knows the forest.  The humming beneath his skin grows where the boy is touching him, where the boy is wrapping a clean white cloth around his bloody ankle.  The boy pulls him up quickly, ducking under his shoulder to support him when he nearly collapses.  He lets the boy.  He doesn’t know why.  

The boy leads him to a house, a cozy looking stack of stones and woods that only feels empty and lifeless to him.  The stone is dead.  The wood is dead.  The lack of life scares him.  He refuses to enter, refuses to be cut off from the forest, not again.  The boy says something again, tries to pull him closer.  He resists.  He can’t lose it, he can’t.  Something shifts in the boy’s eyes and he huffs, chest vibrating against his side, and pulls him higher up on his shoulder.  

The boy leads him to a cluster of trees, grown together in a way that makes a small, dry hollow.   He curls up after the boy lowers him down gently.  His ankle throbs painfully and he tries to fight back the flinch.  He fails.  The boy says something quickly before dashing away.  

He feels cold.  He feels empty.  But the forest is still there.  The thrumming is still there.  Why is he empty?

Why?

The boy comes back, a strange looking bundle stuffed in his arms.  The cold ebbs.  The emptiness fades.  His head feels light.  It feels right.  Safe.

Whole.

He floats in the space between sleeping and waking, hyperaware yet distant from the boy.  There’s chatter that drifts in front of his face that he doesn’t quite understand and doesn’t try to grasp at.  His ankle stings, then doesn’t.  The boy speaks, then doesn’t.  

He’s awake, then isn’t.  

The boy doesn’t leave him alone.  He’s always somewhere behind him, talking and laughing and not making any sense.  He doesn’t acknowledge his presence, even as he stomps through the underbrush and crushes the flowers below his heels.  He thinks he glares, once, after the boy snaps a branch of a nearby tree and he feels the pain deep and sharp in his chest.  The boy walks more carefully after that.  

They boy keeps visiting and visiting and visiting.  He’s always moving, always talking, always living.  After a while, he wants to understand.  He forces the boy to stop and teach him.  The boy does.  

He doesn’t know why, but he starts to trust the boy - Sapnap, the boy squawks one day when he finally starts to learn his language.  There’s something in him that won’t let him walk away.  He doesn’t know if he even wants to in the first place.  

Sapnap doesn’t care about his lack of shoes. (For often than not, he’s barefoot next to him, splashing away in a mud puddle).  Sapnap doesn’t mind the way he pulls his ratty hood up, the way he tugs his collar to hide his face.  He knows he’s not… normal looking.  He remembers way people sneer if he forgets to hide.  He knows Sapnap should be the same.  But he never is.  (He doesn’t even comment).  He feels comfortable around him, safe, in almost every way.

Except one.  

Sapnap is Sapnap.  He is…

He doesn’t know who he is.  He’s never had to care before.  The forest doesn’t care about names, about self.  It lives and grows and dies as a unit.  He didn’t care before, when the forest was all he had.  But now…

Now he wants to be something.  Something more than a child in green, living in green.  He wants to be someone.

He doesn’t tell Sapnap.  He doesn’t know how to tell him.  They continue to meet.  (Never near Sapnap’s house, not after his mother screamed and nearly skewered him when he tried to follow Sapnap inside).  They meet by the river, by the lightning-split oak, by the rock shaped like a wolf.  They meet and he listens and he wants to tell him so badly but he can’t.  So he doesn’t.

Until Sapnap asks him.  It should be so easy.  Three words.  I am … something.  But he’s not.  He has nothing.  He tells him as much, throat raw.  The thrumming under his skin becomes painful.  

Sapnap’s hand on his arm isn’t.  It’s warm.  

He offers him options, laying them out on the soft, dew-covered grass.  He sorts through them, testing them on his tongue, looking to his … friend for guidance.  

He picks one, and it feels right as it tumbles from his mouth.  Sapnap smiles brightly when he says it to him.

My name is Dream.  I’m Dream.

Dream grows, and so does Sapnap.  He learns, and so does Sapnap.  They learn of the world beyond the forest border.  They learn of the great oceans, the vast deserts, the sprawling cities, the sheer number of people.  They learn of magic, great and small.  No matter what they do, they do it together.  

When Sapnap sheepishly hands him a white mask with a crudely drawn smile, he feels the forest around them sing in tune with his heart.  He offers a thin strip of white cloth in return, so similar to the one used so long ago, yet so much more valuable than anything he can say with words.  And he swears he feels the forest’s voice change, a new, deeper note of gratitude adding to the chorus, when his friend accepts.  He thinks something has slotted into place, and he doesn’t want to let it go.  

He doesn’t know exactly how everything happened, only that it did.

He’s waiting for Sapnap to show, dozing in a clearing with his back to the earth and face to the sky.  He hasn’t seen his friend in days, but he’s fine with waiting.  Everything is quiet.  Calm.  Peaceful.  The forest is humming around him.  

Then it shrieks.  

He bolts upright, calm melting away and replaced by panic and pain.  

So much pain.  

It tugs at his very core, screaming pain pain danger hurt fire hurry HURRY PAIN.  

He doesn’t think.  He runs.

The forest opens up in response to his panic.  The earth shifts beneath his feet.  Roots curl back to avoid catching his ankles.  Trees move to open new paths.  Birds call in the distance as he nears the spot.  He knows this spot.  He knows that house.  

The house is on fire.  

Tall, red and orange flames lick at the leaves above it, and the trees shudder.  Patches of once green grass are burned black and brittle.  An outline of something he doesn’t want to recognize but does lays in the scorched grass.  There’s a crowd of people he doesn’t know, dressed in black and gray, gathered around the burning building.  There are weapons in their hands.  A small figure stands at the center of the mass, covered in soot and hands lit aflame.  

Sapnap’s eyes are smoldering embers, glowing in the afternoon light.  He wears a snarl, the beginnings of fangs glinting as he growls lowly.  Dream doesn’t breech the tree line, frozen in fear and rage.  There’s a dissonant note ringing in the air, familiar and not.  A figure swings a blade down, slicing through the dirty band tied around Sapnap’s forehead.  

The note continues.  

Dream shatters.  

He doesn’t remember the earth twisting to cover Sapnap.  He doesn’t remember the ring of stone that rises, forming a barricade.  He doesn’t remember the thorns that twist between, razor sharp thorns multiplying.

He does remember the feeling of blood puddling turning the dirt beneath his feet to mud.  He does remember skulls crushed beneath his fingers.  He does remember the snap of bone, the scream of pain, the rush of heat.  The thrill of the hunt. Of the kill.  

He stands alone, surrounded by what remains of the crowd.  The earth releases Sapnap, carefully depositing him next to Dream.  They don’t look at each other.  Sapnap reaches and clutches at Dream’s hand.  Dream doesn’t let go.  It starts to rain, droplets hissing on the fire.

They stand, blood-soaked and soot-stained, in the rain.  They hold each other tightly.  They don’t let go.

Brothers walk into the forest.  They never look back.

He doesn’t know how long they spent alone in the forest, but the years pass anyway.  Both change, growing into lanky limbs and boundless magic.  Dream learns to tighten his reach, to pull the scope of his awareness down to a pinpoint, to lessen the input of noise.  The forest still sings, but he is the conductor.  Sapnap learns how his flames wax and wane through the seasons, to conserve his heat through the winter and to restrain the inferno in the summer.  They spar and clash, chasing one another through the forest with the same childlike glee but sharpened with age and reckless with confidence.  

The whispers start late in the autumn.  The Year of Challenge had arrived.  They heard of the festival held every century to test the might and the will of the king.  Whoever emerged victorious could claim crown and throne for themselves.  

Dream feels the forest’s song change, once careful and chaotic, to a frenzied and wild drumbeat of war.  The thrumming nearly tears skin from bone.  It urges him to claim what was rightfully his.  

He knows Sapnap feels it too, already familiar with the way their power has entangled and formed an unbreaking web.  

They make a promise, curled up in the darkness of the canopy, that no matter which of them succeeds, they would never leave.  They were a pair.  Inseparable.  

The city is alive much like the forest that surrounds it, but in a very, very different way.  Dream feels the way the thrumming becomes almost non-existent.  He tries not to let the cloud of panic overtake him, not when they’re so close to what they want.  What they need.  

He doesn’t remember much of the tournament.  It rushes around him in a haze of action.  He wields his blade like an extension of his arm.  He feels each movement of his enemy before it happens.  He cuts them down without remorse.  He feels entirely at ease.  Natural.

And a scream changes everything.

There’s no freezing of time.  No moment of recognition.  No note hangs in the air.  He knows the scream as soon as it sounds.

He charges.

The challenger stands over the broken form of his brother, curved sword dripping with blood.  He does not hesitate to cut their head from their shoulders, reveling in the slick slide-thud as it hits the ground.  No one else is standing.

The crowd cheers for their new king.  He does not care for them.  He cares only for one person.  

He doesn’t care for tradition, for the pride of the Fair Folk, for the strength of their image.  He doesn’t care about the Lords and Ladies of the Courts, the politics of the outside world, the gold and jewels and luxuries that are his by right.  

He waits by his brother’s bed, by the only person who he chose and who chose him in return, and does not leave.  

Courtiers and chancellors and counselors all try to pry him away.  He is king, he is meant to rule.  He refuses.  He will not rule without him at his side.  

It takes weeks of hoping for miracles and praying to gods he’s not sure exist until Sapnap opens his eyes.  Dream buries his face into his shoulder and cries.  They do not separate for what feels like years.

Life changes, and yet it doesn’t.  Dream embraces his role as King, and he doesn’t.  Sapnap becomes Lord of the Summer Court, and he doesn’t.  They grow, and they stay the same.

Dream continues to search for the thrill of the hunt, of the chase.  When he no longer finds it with Sapnap alone, he searches for something new.  Something more.  

He finds it hidden in the Royal Library.  A Night Court Fae, brought to be the Royal Historian, grins at him without reservation, without the fear and awe most gave without a second thought, and offers his name.  He likes Karl, before he can even learn what he can do.

(Karl asks him if he wants this, wants to feel powerless.  He does.  The forest goes quiet, quieter than he’s ever heard it before, and something in him breaks.  His head is clear.  He feels like his skin isn’t filled to bursting.  He folds Karl into his circle without thought.)

He finds it tucked away in a secret clearing near the Eastern border of the forest.  A tiny cabin, surrounded by trees and flowers.  A Changeling with glittering, diamond-hard scales and his demon companion are startled by his appearance, but not frightened.  The demon merely scolds him for not calling ahead as the changeling laughs.

(Skeppy doesn’t want anything to do with the Kingdom.  They abandoned him to the outside, and Dream understands.  He visits when the Courts grow too stuffy, too closed off, to much and joins on his friend on adventures.  He is not loyal to Dream because he is King.  He is loyal because he is Dream.)

(Bad is kind and sharp and knows more than he lets anyone know.  He is tight-lipped about his past before Skeppy and Dream does not blame him.  They whisper late at night about magic and madness and the truth about power.  Bad does not see Dream as the Master of the Forest, for there is no way to master a force as dangerous as his nature.  He helps him hold tight to the edges of himself when it threatens to tear him apart.)

He runs from them, laughter weaving through the trees.  He feels the way Sapnap pounds his feet on the dirt, hears the way Skeppy jumps from tree to tree, knows the way Bad switches his rhythm to try to hide his location.  Karl is nearby, pressing down on his power to keep things interesting.  His blood sings for the hunt.  

He pushes through brush, leaps over rivers, running in circles just to hear the cries of outrage and disbelief.  He taunts them because he can, because this is his domain and he knows everything that happens.  

He doesn’t know who this man is.  

He stands panting, barefoot, mask covered in mud and hands riddled with scrapes, at the man kneeling in the grass.  The man is humming to himself as he looks at the flowers, not even acknowledging Dream’s presence.  

He doesn’t understand.  He feels every movement, every shift, every change in the ebb and flow of magic in the entire forest.  And yet, he senses nothing from this man.  He feels nothing but an empty space.

It’s fascinating.

He doesn’t hesitate in introduce himself to the man, to George.  George doesn’t seem alarmed in the slightest at Dream’s appearance or his invitation to join him for a walk.  They talk, and as they talk Dream feels the thrumming rise despite Karl’s intervention.  When they meet back with the group, all frustrated and annoyed at being ignored, he offers George a place to stay.  He feels Sapnap’s interest, Karl’s confusion, Skeppy’s curiosity, and Bad’s amusement.  He ignores the way the thrumming intensifies when George accepts.

George blends in seamlessly and flourishes in his new home.  Dream sees his wonder at the variety of fauna and preens.  (Sapnap digs an elbow into his side and snickers).

But as time passes, Dream notices changes.  The way George finds a single gray hair.  The way  he gathers a few smile lines around his eyes.  The way he wears his humanity so blatantly, and yet Dream missed every sign.  And now he’s running out of time.

He runs to Sapnap.  They cannot lose a piece of themselves.  Not now, not when they finally know what it’s like to feel complete.

They dig through old manuscripts, pages stained and torn with time and age.  They consult every Court, every living Historian, every herbalist they can get their hands on.  They beg Bad to help.  After hours of begging, bribery, and tears, he gives in.  They don’t tell him why they’re so desperate.  They don’t have the time.  

(Bad doesn’t tell them he knows.  He doesn’t tell them he’s been through this before.  He doesn’t tell them the average life expectancy for Higher Demons, or the average life expectancy for Changelings, or the reason he came across such forbidden knowledge.  Some things are better left unsaid.)

They find the right components, the right time frame, the right moment.  They complete the ritual in silence, staring at the vials in hand.  The liquid is silvery in the moonlight.  It worked.  They breathe.  It worked.  

Dream invites George to the castle for lunch, slipping the liquid into his drink before he arrives.  The conversation flows, jokes and stories bouncing off one another easily.  He watches carefully as George drains his drink, commenting on the sweet flavor.  Both sip their own and feel the tension drain from their bodies when know it works, power settling deep in their cores.  

One will not go without the others.  All three will survive.  He will make sure of it.  

He didn’t have a name before.  

He didn’t have a home before.  

He didn’t have a family before.

He has all three now.  

And he doesn’t plan on ever letting go.

(George doesn’t tell them he knows.  They aren’t the most subtle.  He doesn’t approve of how they went behind his back, of how they did not think to give him a choice.  He doesn’t approve, but he understands.  He knows fear when he sees it.  And while he doesn’t approve, he does appreciate having a family that cares.  In their own unusual way.)

[omg-imagine]

⊱ Forget Me Not (1/15) ⊰

Pairing: Keanu Reeves x Reader

Summary: After you wake up from a coma and realize that your memories from the last five years have been erased, Keanu works to bring back what you have lost.

Words: 2k

Warnings: Mention of car accident, injuries

A/N: This is my first attempt in doing a series and I’m super excited/nervous. Everything’s mostly outlined already and I’m hoping to post a new chapter every Sunday.  If you’d like to be tagged in this, let me know! 

As always, I hope you enjoy!

The heavy rain poured down from the dark skies, battering against the roof of Keanu’s Porsche like a hail of bullets. Loud roars of thunder filled the gaps of silence every few minutes, followed by bright flashes of lightning that illuminated the world outside. The wipers moved impressively fast as they tried to sweep the droplets of water away from the windshield. Still, they could barely keep up with the torrent of rain hammering the city of Los Angeles.

Turning down a corner, Keanu cursed under his breath when he realized that the road was flooded. He quickly made a U-Turn back onto the main street, his tires skidding across the wet pavement. He searched for an alternative way that he could take, but the chaotic storm only made it more difficult for him to do so. He could hardly see what was ahead of him, and he was beginning to lose his patience.

Fortunately, Keanu was able to find an access road leading to the freeway. He knew it wasn’t safe going twenty miles above the posted speed limit, but he had already lost too much time trying to navigate through the storm. All he cared about at that moment was that the faster he drove, the quicker he got to you.

He could still remember every word of that phone call from nearly an hour ago. It was from an unknown number, and initially, he didn’t want to answer it just in case you decided to call him back. But something in his gut told Keanu to answer, and he did. It had been a nurse on the other line saying that you were in an accident, and you were rushed to the emergency room in critical condition. As soon as he heard that you were hurt, he was already running out of the door.

His eyes glistened as he thought back to the moment before you had left your shared home in such a haste. Keanu blamed himself for giving you a reason to leave the house while a storm raged outside. He should have held back his tongue, took your car keys, and convinced you harder enough to stay. If only he had done just that, you wouldn’t be in this situation right now.

The rest of the drive to the hospital was a blur. After driving for fifteen minutes when it should have taken Keanu at least thirty, he finally arrived in front of Cedars-Sinai Medical Center. He parked his vehicle in a nearby lot before rushing towards the entrance, the pitiless rain soaking his hair and clothes in an instant. Reaching the glass doors, they parted for Keanu to step inside, and he immediately headed to the main desk ahead.

“Hi, I-I’m here for my partner, Y/N Y/LN,” he managed to say as he caught his breath.

The nurse nodded, checking her system for your information. “Yes, I was the one who called. Your name was listed as Y/N’s emergency contact. According to the last update on here, it says that she was wheeled into surgery about thirty minutes ago, Mr. Reeves.”

“Is she going to be alright?” Keanu asked wearily, hoping that her answer was what he wanted to hear.

It wasn’t.

“We don’t know yet, sir,” she replied sadly before placing a clipboard on top of the counter. “You can sit in the waiting room until the procedure is over. In the meantime, we need you to fill out these papers on her behalf.”

With a nod of his head, Keanu walked down the hall with the paperwork and a pen in hand. The waiting area was stark and quiet. The television mounted on the wall was playing a movie, not that there was anyone paying attention to it. There were a couple of other people scattered in the room, though most were asleep due to the late hour of the night.

Keanu took a lone seat in one corner of the room, ignoring the uncomfortable sensation of his drenched clothing sticking to his skin. He then pushed his long hair back, letting out a deep sigh. The adrenaline had finally subsided, and he had the opportunity to just breathe. He already knew that this was going to be a long wait, and he didn’t want to spend the whole time mulling about the things that he could have done to prevent this. As a start, he decided to concentrate on filling up the paper with your information first.

Most of the questions it asked were basic, nothing that Keanu couldn’t answer. After being together for nearly five years, he knew everything there was to know about you. He knew all of your favorite songs, the foods you liked and disliked, the names of your closest friends, and more.

You had been nothing but kind and understanding to Keanu from the moment you two met. It wasn’t an easy life living under the public eye because of his job as an actor, but you’ve always handled it so well. No other person he has ever dated had made him feel so happy and complete. To him, you were the most precious thing in the entire world, and he has never loved someone so deeply until you came along.

God, why did he have to screw up so badly?

Keanu set aside the clipboard and buried his face in his hands. He needed to call your parents and tell them what had happened. With a sharp exhale, he fished out his phone from his pocket and called your father. As the phone rang in his ear, he planned inside his head how he was going to break the news.

“Hi, Keanu,” your father greeted. He sounded as if he had just woken up, which he probably did. It was only five in the morning where they lived on the east coast. “Is everything okay, son?”

Son. Keanu was very close to your parents since the day you introduced him to them. They had quickly taken a liking on him, seeing that he was the first man you’ve dated that treated you right. Your parents loved Keanu as if he were one of their own, and it broke his heart knowing that this was all his fault.

“I’m sorry for waking you up, but...” Keanu began, his voice starting to break as he tried to find the right words. “It’s Y/N.”

“What? What happened?”

Swallowing the lump in his throat, Keanu told your father about your current condition. As expected, your parents would be taking the first flight out of New York to be with you. After an exchange of reassuring words, the call ended, and Keanu couldn’t hold back any longer, letting his tears finally fall.

An hour went by, then another and another. The clock on display made time felt as though it was moving much slower, making the wait much more unbearable. Keanu would glance up, and in every instance, he swore that the second hand would linger an extra minute at every passing second.

The padded chairs didn’t bring much comfort throughout the night. Every so often, he would walk around the room, stretching his legs for a bit before returning to his seat. Despite exhaustion threatening to take over, Keanu pushed it aside for as long as he could. He was afraid that if he dared to shut his eyes, he would see the nightmare that was already haunting him even while awake.

Keanu did whatever he could to pass the time. He texted his mother and sisters about where you were, not expecting an answer right away because he was sure they were still asleep. He then attempted to read some of the outdated magazines available and watched whatever was on the television. He even resorted to simply staring at the window and watching the rain as it pelted against the glass.

But none of them were enough to distract Keanu. All he could think about was your well-being, and how you didn’t deserve to go through this. He didn’t want to lose you, and the mere thought of it was scaring him. You had so much life left to live, and it wouldn’t be fair for the universe to suddenly take it away.

Eventually, the storm relented, and the skies that were black shifted to blue, signaling a new day of life. The sun rose slowly yet surely, its natural light bringing a sense of calm to Keanu. For a brief moment, he basked in the peacefulness, only wishing that you were there with him to enjoy it.

“Mr. Reeves?”

Keanu turned around, his eyes catching sight of a doctor standing before him. He instantly pushed himself up from his seat, extending his hand for a shake.

“Keanu, and you must be Y/N’s doctor.”

“Yes, my name is Dr. Henderson,” the older gentleman introduced. “How are you doing?”

“I’m doing alright, I guess,” he replied with a slight shrug. “How’s Y/N?”

“Well, when Y/N first arrived, she was in bad shape, but we managed to stabilize her. The car accident caused a lot of internal bleeding that we were able to stop during the surgery,” Henderson explained as Keanu took in every word that was said. “Unfortunately, she’s not out of the woods yet. She did sustain severe head trauma, and as a result, she’s currently in a coma. We won’t know the extent of her injuries until after she wakes up.”

Keanu lowered his head, releasing the breath he was holding. “And when will she wake up?”

The doctor sighed, and that’s when Keanu looked up, seeing the uncertainty painted on the other man’s face. “I’m sorry, Mr. Reeves. We don’t know how long it’ll take. It could be days, weeks, maybe even months.”

“Okay,” was all that Keanu could say after a while. “Can I see her?”

Dr. Henderson gave him a sympathetic smile and a nod. “Of course.”

Henderson led the way as Keanu trailed closely behind. The walk to your room seemed endless. Every hallway they turned down to looked the same as the last. The blank white walls of the hospital felt cold, constricting and unwelcoming, it was becoming a place where a person like you shouldn’t belong.

Soon, they reached the foot of your door, your last name printed on a placard just below the room number. All Keanu had to do now was push down on the handle and open the door. His mind prepared him for what he was about to see. But as soon as he entered inside, it was worse than what he could imagine.

He crossed the room with cautious steps, afraid that if he were loud enough, it might disturb you. Your body was hooked on many machines, none of which he could possibly know what for other than they helped keep you alive. Once he reached your bedside, Keanu saw your delicate skin littered with the reds of your scratches and the blues of your bruises. Seeing you this way made his chest tightened, and if he could, he would trade places with you so that you no longer had to suffer.

Your body laid very still, and it was unnerving for Keanu to witness. Bringing a chair closer, he then sat down beside your bed, reaching out to hold your uninjured hand. He asked himself how you could look so peaceful after experiencing so much pain. If you had been awake, you would have surely given him a smart answer, and the two of you would then laugh about it.

Keanu felt the tears pricking his eyes as he continued to grasp your hand in his. He would do anything in the world just to hear the sweet sound of your laughter again. Though he was unsure of what tomorrow and the following days would bring, he knew that he would be right there by your side, waiting for you to wake up from your deep sleep.

Because despite everything that has happened, Keanu loved you, and he made a vow that he would never give up on you no matter what.

Part 2

Tagged: @penwieldingdreamer​

[sidespromptblog]

Ice

Warnings: Hypothermia, Almost Drowning, Logan Angst, Self-Destruction, and Almost Death. 

Summary:  The waters were a crystal clear blue, the kind of clear that he could see everything that laid out before him, the kind of waters that in the summertime would have been the perfect place to swim at and have fun. It wasn’t exactly the kind of place to be at during the dead of winter, and it most certainly wasn’t the kind of place to be swimming right now. But Logan was there anyway...

Word Count: 2700

The chill of the winter air nipped at Logan’s skin raising goosebumps along his bare arms and legs, ordinarily, he would never have been caught dead in the throws of winter wearing nothing more than a pair of swimming trunks. Ordinarily, wearing such a thing would have been a recipe for a disastrous cold that would take him weeks to recover from. But here, here in the imagination, where anything could be anything, Logan faced the cold as he stared down at the calm waters of the pool he had created in what would ordinarily be Roman’s place of creation. Roman would be angry at him for coming here without his knowledge, angry at him for creating something where he shouldn’t have, and well… for doing something so stupid when he always claimed to be smarter than them.

Exhaustion tugged and snapped at his very bones, days upon days of working… and for what? A schedule that the others had tossed out the window when Patton claimed that Thomas absolutely needed to go Christmas caroling in the dead of December with friends when they had asked. A task that had led to Thomas getting a cold the very next day and leaving him bedridden as Joan and Talyn watched over him.

All of his hard work thrown out the window.

The days he had spent, leading to nothing more than a glorified paper shredder destroying what he had worked for.

For friends, for a cold night out, for a cough that wouldn’t go away and rattled in Thomas’ chest, for Patton to exclaim that Thomas shouldn’t be in bed while Joan and Talyn were over trying to help, for the others pushing for Thomas to make his own meals instead of letting the others do it. So much… just thrown out the window, just like they had neglected to listen to him when he had suggested again the action of caroling in the first place.

“Oh hush! It’ll be good for him to get out of the house for once, and he’ll be with friends Lo! That’ll be good for him to get some social interaction with his friends. You know what that is right?”

A shiver wracked Logan’s form as he snapped back to himself, still staring down at the still waters of the pool. He was freezing, and the weight of the missing glasses on his face made him feel oddly vulnerable as he stood there. Another breeze drifted across his skin, another pin prickling of ice across his nerves as he just stood there, he didn’t even bother to rub his arms in an attempt to generate some kind of warmth.

There wasn’t any reason to do so.

With a heavy sigh that allowed him to see his breath for a moment, Logan hesitated, but just for a brief moment of his muscles interlocking and stopping him dead in his tracks before he stepped forward onto the stairs that led into the deep waters of the pool before him. The waters were a crystal clear blue, the kind of clear that he could see everything that laid out before him, the kind of waters that in the summertime would have been the perfect place to swim at and have fun. It wasn’t exactly the kind of place to be at during the dead of winter, and it most certainly wasn’t the kind of place to be swimming right now.

Nevertheless, Logan stepped out onto the watery stairs and within seconds ice shards slammed into Logan’s feet the very moment he touched the water.

It was… freezing. It was so damn cold, the kind of cold that was painful before it ever got close to being numb. It made him stop as he gripped the metal railing of the pool with an iron-like grip. His teeth chattered loudly in his skull, the pool might as well have been frozen it was so cold. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up in attention, at the current of snow that now rushed through his veins.

Any ordinary person would have long ago gone back to the warmth of the inside with a hot chocolate and gotten dressed in the proper heavy coat, scarf, and mittens. But here he was… dipping his other foot into the freezing waters.

It could have taken only a few minutes, or it could have taken hours. But eventually, Logan managed his way to the very center of the pool, where eventually he was forced to float in the waters once it got over his head, and where he was forced to swim through the sharp icy pool waters to get right where he wanted to. It was almost peaceful in an odd kind of way, if peaceful happened to be cold seeping in from every direction all at once ensuring that he couldn’t feel his fingertips and nose. The wind had long since stopped since he had entered the pool, leaving the pool to occasionally ripple with every movement that he made to get to stay afloat.

Logan floated on his back and stared up at the night sky before him, the occasional lightning bug would flutter over the pool lighting up the night sky as if it were a star itself creating itself before eventually going out. He wasn’t exactly sure what magics that Roman used to make the sky so beautiful at night, or maybe it was Remus stretching his imagination to the stars where nobody could have a say on what he could or could not create on those balls of gas, and even other planets that he could create thousands of light-years away. What he did know though… was that it was unlike any proper night sky that he had ever seen with Thomas in the real world. The colors popped, and the light from the stars seemed so much closer than they ever really could be factual.

It was all rather… beautiful, catching a glimpse at the night sky in winter as his drooping eyes begged to stay closed for more than a few seconds.

Beautiful indeed.

His fingertips no longer felt the sharp pinpricks of the of the freezing cold water, in fact, a warm numbness swept through him the longer that he floated there, the water lapping at the edge of his face as he tiredly looked up at the sky. It was almost akin to submerging into warm bathwater after having stayed out for too long, like the urge to fall asleep in a bathtub after an excruciatingly long day that made his muscles and back sore. He was…

Tired.

“Sleeping in a pool is not advisable,” Logan mumbled to himself as a quirked a blind sloppy sided smile, his words slurred together unlike anything he had ever heard before. “For humans though… I am Logic, not a human..” Just a fabrication, just a simplistic stagnate action of Thomas’ mind that would always be there no matter what. He logically would not be able to die, none of the sides could die. At least… not in the human way of death. “A.. a few moments couldn’t hurt. I’m not..” Logan blinked, his eyelids were already trying so hard to stay open as his numb lips mouthed empty words.

Darkness was creeping around the edges of his vision, dragging him down and down, until...

“I’m.. I’m… not-” Human.

It was only when the waves of the pool splashed chaotically against the edges did Logan’s eyes crack open, his brain on the very tipping point of going unconscious yet again. The world even without his glasses was a blur of movement and colors as his head sunk below the tide of the pool, the noises and motions muffled with the movement of the water around him that slowly but steadily allowed him to sink further and further down. He could only tiredly see the motion of something or someone coming for him, and the sound of that something screaming above the surface of the water. Without even thinking too hard about it, Logan allowed his eyes to slowly ease shut again, the chaos of everything around him becoming no more than a slight hum in his submerged ears as the darkness came back and swamped his mind.

Then that particular something, dove under the water wrenching Logan right out of the unconscious state he had been about to go back to.

Within seconds Logan’s head broke through the surface of the freezing water, as a pair of strong steady arms gripped him so tight that there would undoubtedly be bruising the next morning. Their fingers gripped him tight as a trembling ran up and down their body, and before Logan could even blink the chlorine-filled water from his eyes he found himself being crushed against the other’s chest to the point that no part of him was even touching the water anymore. His chest ached, as he found himself coughing and coughing, clutching at whoever had managed to wrangle him out of the depths of the pool. Water streamed down his face and out of his mouth as he buried his face into the soaked shoulder of the other side, his entire body shaking and trembling with each gasp and wheeze.

He couldn’t seem to stop shaking.

“...gan...Lo..gan? Logan!” The hands that had seized him so roughly from the watery depths gingerly cradled him now as he found himself moving towards the steps of the pool before they were both finally out. With his eyes clear and his lung no longer heaving water over the other’s shoulder Logan blinked again as he pulled back, for the first time catching a glimpse of just who had dove into freezing cold waters just for him. Remus’ dark smokey eyes stared daggers down at him, as the creative side stalked away from the pool completely and utterly sopping wet as the makeup around his eyes streamed freely down his cheeks. “What the fuck was that nostril nerd? Do you just make a habit of falling asleep in pools in the middle of December, or is this a court with death?!” Remus snapped, his hands and shoulders were trembling despite how he bit out each word, his jaw was set in a rather serious way that Logan had never ever seen before.

The creative side’s breathing was rough, his chest practically heaving as he stared down at Logan again as if waiting for some kind of answer to his question. Honestly, Logan didn’t understand what the big deal was about it, he wasn’t really human… none of them were, so death didn’t exactly mean the same thing for them. So.. so why was he so angry about this? Just a few months ago he had thrown a ninja star at his forehead, so a little water was almost nothing in compared to the way that Remus liked to have fun.

Remus sniffled, and the water continued to stream down his face.

And just like that… it finally sunk in for Logan.

He wasn’t angry… well, he was certainly angry. But Remus was experiencing a different emotional reaction along with that, one that usually went hand in hand with anger when it came to people he was close to and cared for.

He was… scared, not just scared… but scared for Logan.

“I…” Logan felt stumped for his words, resting his cheek against the shoulder of Remus’ soaked uniform he scrambled for his words. “I had to.” He lamely summarized as the feeling of pins and needles came back to his fingers and toes as a rough shiver shook him. “I don’t know why.. I just had to.” He mumbled, a feeling of shame curling in his stomach like a dragon that had been awoken by a terrible force, he was used to shame.. shame after he had pelted Roman in the eye with a paper ball, shame when he couldn’t understand his own basic emotions, shame when Thomas admitted that he didn’t want to be a scientist, and just shame from failing as Logic… He had felt all of that before, but this.. this kind of shame made him panic in the kind of way that gripped his heart and refused to let it be.

Logan roughly swallowed, he could feel his lungs pulling tightly in his chest and his heart thudding against his ribs.

“Are you… are you going to tell the others?” He finally asked, as his stomach twisted like branches in the wind of a full-on hurricane tearing through a forest leaving nothing behind.

“I don’t know,” Remus’ eyes darted away as he stared ahead, keeping a close eye on just where he was walking. Just from the direction that he was walking Logan could tell that they weren’t headed back to the mindspace where Logan’s room was, the big ominous castle in the dark spooky forest that was growing steadily closer and closer told him that much. For a split second the creative side’s eyes darted back down to him, his eyes locking with Logan’s for a single intense second. “Are you going to do it again?”

That question alone stumped Logan.

Was he going to do it again? What would happen if he needed to.. if he felt the urge to just come here again? Would he do it? Would Remus be around next time to fish him out, or would the others find him next time? At the bottom of the pool looking pale and d-

“Does it matter?”

Remus stopped dead in his tracks at that question, his fingers once against digging into Logan where he held him, making the logical side squirm before he finally relaxed his grip. Remus’ breath remained trapped in his lungs for a long couple of seconds as his teeth chomped at the side of his cheek until he could taste the red, his teeth ground together until he was almost certain that he could hear a crack somewhere in his skull. A thousand words remained on the tip of his tongue, begging for him to spit them all out in one chaotic fashion. For a split second, he contemplated dropping Logan, or maybe just kicking down every door that was in the light sided mindspace until he could find out where this problem was located. Just so that he could smash it to a bloody red mushy pulp with his morning star and never have to see Logan deal with that again, the only issue was… he couldn’t. It wasn’t something tangible that he could fight, it was a thought, a thought that he should have caught before it ever got to Logan.

He was the one who dealt with these kinds of thoughts, so.. so why hadn’t he?

Remus swallowed down the red that he tasted like iron on his tongue. It always matters. He wanted to say, to proclaim, to scream and shout at the top of his lungs until he couldn’t speak anymore. “I am going to warm you up,” He instead said, clutching Logan just the slightest bit closer, “And after you’ve eaten, after you put on some clothes, and after you aren’t dying of hypothermia… we are going to talk. It can be you and me, or it can be you and Dee. But you are going to talk, and we’re going to make sure that it matters… that it will always matter. Not just to me, but to you as well.”

Maybe it was the leftover Roman in him from their split talking, but despite how sappily poetic his words had sounded but…

Remus was satisfied enough with them as he carried on towards his dark castle where he would steadily warm Logan up in a massive bed covered in blankets with a room that was fit for a king given the fireplace in it. Where he’d try his damn hardest to not screw up a simple soup recipe, where he’d watch and make sure that Logan ate every single bite, and where eventually… they would both fall asleep sharing each other's warmth.

What would come the next day was unknown, but Logan was safe right now and that was all that mattered.

[meganshinsou-tm]

i’m here. (a)

☙ pairing: bakugou x reader

☙ theme:  angst

☙  cw/tw: profanity, grief, nightmares

☙  a/n-request:  random heartbreaking idea i had to get out of my head after watching p.s. i love you one day. sorry everyone.

{ ** continuation here } 

Jolting upright Bakugou panted, his red eyes wide open and heart hammering, sweat soaking his chest and back. There was a sick nauseous feeling in the pit of his stomach as he tried to even his breathing and calm down. 

Flinging the covers off, Bakugou growled and swung his feet off the bed and slowly stumbed to the bathroom. Turning on the light he winced at the brightness of it before getting used to it and turning on the faucet. The hero leaned over, splashing cold water on his face and literally cooling down in no time. When he was done Bakugou stood before the sink a bit longer, hands gripping the edges while his nightmare played over in his head.

You cradled in his arms and smiling, a hand brushing his cheek, his forehead pressed to yours and biting back all his tears and raw emotions. You bled out from a piece of debris impaling your abdomen, your sweet and wavering voice trying to keep him together.

“You’re so fucking stupid, why did you do that - I was supposed to take that hit!” He spat out through gritted teeth.

“And that kid too? I think you’re dumber than me Kats,” you spoke and tried to chuckle but a breathy choke cut it short.

Bakugou held you tighter, his body going numb and hearing turning into white noise except for your own voice and his. Gritting his teeth he looked down at the wound you tried to hide under your hand then back up and around the chaos.

He tried to scream out for help but his voice wasn’t fucking working. 

Your body trembled in his arms and made him gasp, looking back at you again and shaking his head, hand cupping your face upon seeing your eyes growing heavier and that smile growing weaker.

“No goddammit, you’re staying with me, you’re not fucking leaving me - I’ll get help, I’ll save you!”

“Kats,” you breathed out and worked your smile back up, hand taking his own and kissing his cheek, “I’ll never leave you, ever. You’ve already saved me so many t-times, it was my turn to save you baby. I’ll be fine and you’ll be fine, okay?”

Bakugou’s lip trembled, he felt your hold on his hand loosening, his breathing hitched and he shook his head. Warm lips kissed every inch of your face, Bakugou savoring each one, remembering the taste and feel like muscle memory and feeling hot tears rolling down his face.

“I love you so much Katsuki.”

The sound of porcelain cracking made Bakugou come back to his senses and he realized his quirk was starting to act up from being so emotional. Quickly he removed himself from the appliance and strode back into the bedroom, palm rubbing at his head and groaning as he tried to shake off the nightmare but his stupid fucking brain couldn’t let it go. 

The more it played on loop the angrier the blonde became. His palms were starting to steam at the mere thought that you’d be stupid enough to sacrifice yourself for him or that it would even be a single thought in your mind at all. After being together since high school and being married to him, you knew better! 

Soon Bakugou’s emotions were running rampant causing him to yell out and swing an arm, clearing off the top of the dresser of books and figures in a fit of rage. The glass of a stand alone mirror shattered when one figure flew into it. In flashes, the images of you dying in his arms clicked over and over and over, they wouldn’t fucking stop!

Bakugou panted and tugged at his hair, pathetically falling to his knees and screaming, body trembling and chest heaving. 

He grabbed a book that laid beside him and chunked it at the wall opposite to him causing a string of lights that was decorated with polaroids to fall down and tangle, making a few pictures fall from their clips. The blonde looked up to see what the noise was and panicked when he saw what he had done. In an instant he was crawling on his knees to the mess he made, hands grappling at the lights and trying his best to fix it.

“Shit she’s gonna kill me! I’ll never fucking hear the end of it - fucking shit why are these impossible to fucking untangle!”

Truly the task was simple but Bakugou was too unstable at the moment to chill and concentrate. He groaned in frustration and sat back on his calves, trying again until he heard the sound of feet padding across the carpet towards him. Bakugou sighed and shook his head.

“I’m fucking fixing it, don’t get your panties in a wad just yet!” He spoke.

There were no words in response, just arms wrapping around his neck and hugging him close. The tip of your nose pressed to his cheek and you kissed it softly with a smile. Bakugou briefly froze once your hands rubbed at his chest and you were smothering him in tiny kisses to his face and jaw, shushing gently on his skin and making him slowly but surely deflate in your arms.

“Kat calm down, just breathe okay?” 

You whispered on his temple and started to run a hand through his hair and rested your cheek to his own, watching what he was trying to do and softly chuckling. 

“It’s an easy fix you just have to take a fucking chill pill.”

Bakugou scoffed and lightly elbowed you, making you giggle, the sound like music to his ears and making his jaw un-clench. 

The man took a couple deep breaths, listening and focusing on you humming softly in his ear. Even though he had matured since high school and for the most part grew out of his temper, there were still just a few selective things that set Bakugou off like the literal bomb he was and one of those things was your safety and life. 

You both worked together as pro-hero’s, fighting the same fights and taking hard blows for each other, at least you’d try for him but almost always Bakugou was fast and protecting you first and foremost. 

“I’ll be damned if I ever lose you,” he would always say. 

So during these chaotic fits, you were the only one who could calm Bakugou and as prideful as he still was, even he himself would admit to that, not wasting a single heartbeat in saying that he needed you.

After a few moments passed, Bakugou was calm enough to start correctly untangling the lights in his hands. You praised him quietly with kisses and continued to watch him.

“What got you so worked up anyway baby?”

For a small second Bakugou stopped, refusing to let those images flood his mind again and only shook his head with a sigh. 

“Just ... a stupid nightmare.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

After finally getting those dumb lights to cooperate, Bakugou turned his head to look at you, his red eyes smiling as he brought his hand up to cup you cheek and kiss your lips softly. 

He breathed in deeply through his nose, taking in the smell of strawberries from his hand ruffling locks of your hair and making the scent of your shampoo permeate in the air. Pulling away from the kiss, your foreheads pressed together and the man took just a few more seconds to register how soft your hair was between his fingers and how your chest lightly pressed on his back every time you breathed. 

Bakugou turned back around and started to gather the loose polaroid's on the floor to re-clip them to the lights and shrugged when he explained his vivid nightmare back over to you. The entire time you held him, rubbing his chest and playing with his hair, kisses littering his face and neck or your face nuzzling into him.

“Katsuki, no matter what happens to us we’ll always be together, even if it’s not physically, I’ll always and forever be with you. You can be weak, it’s not a crime but don’t go losing your fucking head okay? You’ll be fine and you’ll get through anything, you know why?”

Finishing his task, Bakugou sunk back into you, letting out a breath and grabbing your hands that hung from around his neck. His head fell back onto your chest and he kissed your arm.

“Why?”

You smiled and wrapped around the shaken hero tighter - protectively. Hand running through his spiky locks and fingers massaging at his scalp as you laid your cheek to his temple.

“Because I’m right here baby, always! Anytime things seem too hard to take or like you can’t get through another day - I’ll save you,” you replied softly on the shell of his ear before kissing it. “You’ll be fine Katsu, I’ll never leave you ... I’m here, always.”

Bakugou nodded, his hand squeezing tighter around your own. 

“You’re here,” he breathed out, tension and fear leaving his body.

You hummed in response and smiled when Bakugou turned his head and looked at you. A small smile grew on his own face and he tapped your arms, you released him and let him stand to his feet while picking up the string of lights.

You stood behind him, following as he went to hang it back up on the wall, your quiet words of guidance helping him along the way. When it was done, Bakugou took a step back and scanned over the pictures, the memories of each one replaying in his head, the nightmare now becoming a blur. 

With a yawn the male stretched his arms above his head and rubbed his neck. Your hand could be felt grabbing his opposite wrist and making him turn to look at you.

“Come on Kats, you need some rest.”

Bakugou didn’t object, only followed you into the living room that was connected to the bedroom of the small apartment. Walking over to the couch Bakugou plopped down onto it with a drawn out sigh and his arms opening for you to join him. Once you were laid down, Bakugou turned to hold you close to his chest, now being the one to nuzzle his face in the crook of your neck as his hands touched your cheeks and hair. 

He smiled and kissed your cheek, his mind and body second by second relaxing and starting to power down.

“I love you so much.” He sleepily spoke and squeezed tighter, his eyes lazily looking to the tv that was on and quietly broadcasting the news station.

“Earlier this week the notorious villain, The Reaper, was finally caught after evading hero’s for months now. The city is rejoicing as the man will be brought to justice after the tragedy he caused two weeks ago that resulted in the death of the #2 hero, also known as the sidekick and wife of Katsuki Bakugou …… ”

The sound of the newscaster was slowly drowning out and exhaustion was creeping into Bakugou’s bones, his red eyes growing heavy with a yawn.

“You’re ... still ... here.” He spoke again while hugging a pillow close to his chest before finally drifting back off to sleep.

[ajokeformur-ray]

Gentle, untamed beasts rest in the palms of your hands // Lilith x Others

Summary: Vile, repulsive things are spoken about you and you hear these haunting words through paper thin walls. They hit you where it hurts and there is little which can be done to settle the sickly swooping in your stomach. But your men are there and they love you more than any of them can say. It's a good thing that they are men of action, then.

A/N: l wrote this for @jokersspookyhyena because you are... deserving of so much more and I wish that I could give you those things. You’re such a beauty in every way and you make me believe in the goodness of humans. I love you so much, doll. More than you know. 💜💚 I worked super hard on this so I hope that you love it; you’ll see why I’m so nervous to post this!!!! 💙 The GIFs I used are all reactions to the message you sent me today about what happened! Enjoy, darling. 

Word count: 2, 078.

(No preview above the cut because it’s a surprise!!!!✨✨✨✨)

(Don’t you dare tell me off! 🥺😭You deserve all of this and more! I couldn’t decide who to include or who to write for so I just... wrote them all! It was so fun to doooooo ~ ! 💖)

A crow cawed overhead.

Its signature raspy call broke your attention away from the dark storm clouds which loomed overhead as once again did pathetic fallacy play a major part in your day. The beating of large black wings sounded through the open window, large droplets of water started to decorate the inner windowsill, so hard was it raining, and the crow you knew and loved so well tilted its head at you. It was a question and you knew that as the crow took in your tear stained cheeks and your red, sore eyes, that Eric was seeing this same thing.

He was close by. He would be here soon.

You weren’t sure if you wanted to see him. You weren’t sure if you wanted to see anybody. Not like this, anyway. Every nasty word that you had overheard earlier today was still reverberating inside your head, the syllables had hours since stained your mind black, sticky tendrils clinging to your conscience and poisoning your rationality. You had been spoken of so horrifically this day, by people you barely knew, but their insignificance to you had done little to remove the harsh sting of their bitterly cruel and unfair, unjustified comments. No matter what your loves said to you each and every day, it very rarely took little more than a single comment to send you into a downward spiral.

Logic had long since flown, as did the crow now that Eric’s message had reached you:

Soon.

Stood were you in Hannibal’s vast kitchen, your back to the door. You felt vulnerable, your body wide open to attack. Anyone could walk through the door to the kitchen and you could be dying, dead, bleeding out on the floor before you knew it, but at the same time you knew that you were completely safe. No one would harm you here, in Hannibal’s home. Not now and not ever. Anyone who walked through the kitchen door would be someone you knew, someone you loved and trusted, someone you needed with every fibre of your tried and tired being.

Steel toe capped boots echoed on the linoleum floor and you stilled, listening. Waiting. You kept your eyes on the rain, your chocolate gaze following two drops on the window pane as you wondered which one would reach the window sill first. You never found out who won the race constructed by your own mind, carefully lulled out of your reverie were you by a soft voice which was soaked in care and in love for you.

“It can’t rain all the time, you know.”

You turned around just in time to see the sweetness of Eric’s face, the black lines which ran vertically down each eye faded away. Just like J did he not bother with the upkeep of his makeup, though unlike J did he wash off his face fully before he reapplied anything. Usually did he do this by tipping his face up towards the rain with a serene yet oddly melancholic smile on his thin, beautifully sinful lips.

“I don’t care if it does,” You shrugged and turned back to the window. You heard not Eric move but you felt him beside you in the next instant as a careful finger reached out and brushed a dark lock away from your face.

“I care.” Eric’s voice was sweeter than heaven and the look in his dark eyes was hotter than hell as that finger tipped your chin up so that you could look at him and all the pain in the world was in your eyes. He frowned and leaned in, his lips gently touching yours. Eric kissed you with such reverence, like it was the first and last time all at once, and you chased his lips with yours even before he had pulled away from you.

“Leave some for me, would ya’?”

The deep timbre of Pat’s voice, so heavily tinted in that Australian accent you knew and loved so well, combined with the feeling of Eric’s sinful lips against yours, made you gasp and Eric’s arm tightened around your waist as he pulled you into his lithe form. Pat’s voice was teasing, though his words were harsh, and though neither he nor Eric knew not what had happened this day, none of them did, he knew that you were in severe distress and that was one thing that he couldn’t allow. 

Your loves would make the sun shine for you if it was the last thing they did.

“A-ta-ta, Minty. Kid’s goin’ through a lot. Let ‘im have her for a bit. They don’t get much time together unless it’s Dev-il’s Night.” J was right; it was rapidly approaching that blessed time of year and the veil between this world and the next was thinning out. As August melted into September and bled into October was it easier for Eric to come across to be with you, though of course was he strongest with you on October Thirtieth every year! You wrenched your lips away from Eric’s at the sound of J’s voice. Eric looked dazed from your passionate, though chaste, kiss and his arm stayed around your waist even as you turned to look at your chaotic clown. Greasepaint was dripping down J’s gorgeous face and pooling in the collar of his deep purple trench coat, whereas Eric’s painted visage was untouched by the rain; a part of him was it.

“J ~ !” Your greeting rang out in a sing song manner and you saw the almost imperceptible upwards tilt of J’s ravaged lips in response; he loved the way you loved him and the way that you responded so enthusiastically and genuinely to his appearance, something which made most people fearful for their lives even if no intent was meant.

“Babydoll.”

Your stomach dropped. J only used that name in situations which called for comfort. He knew that you weren’t okay and that something had happened today. Even without specifics, this meant that Eric knew.... which meant that Pat knew and therefore...

Two sets of footsteps in polished shoes approached the now almost crowded kitchen and they came closer and closer... 

Hannibal was the first to appear in the grand doorway and you felt your heart seize in your chest. Oh, how you loved him. Will wasn’t far behind, for long ago had he and Hannibal begun to blur, and indeed sometimes did even you struggle to tell which of the men was speaking. Different were their voices but similar were their words and the intonations; Will was a complete empath and he could almost mimic someone exactly, and Hannibal was his own dominating personality.

"Dearest - “ Hannibal’s deep and intense eyes, his gaze reminiscent to that of a shark, struck you to your very core and you moved away from Eric, though the man kept his strong and firm grip around your waist. You could move if you wanted to, but he still wanted for you to know that you were safe with him. He cared and never would he lie about that sentiment. “What is bothering you? You must tell us. We can help you, but only if you allow us.”

This felt almost like an intervention, and perhaps it was, but in the presence of your men and in the presence of their undying and unconditional love for you and under the scrutiny of Will and Hannibal’s impenetrable gazes, Eric’s tenderness, J’s careful analysis and the way that he stalked across the room to get to you easily, taking up your other side so that you were deliciously sandwiched between he and Eric, and the way that Pat was frowning and looking between everyone’s faces like it was a tennis match as he desperately tried to work out what was happening... you snapped.

Words poured out like the rain outside was now coming from within you. and you told the too still, too quiet room everything. Every word which had been cruelly said, every rude comment, every taunt and every whisper, every thought in your mind... at some point, Eric began to stroke his fingers along your forehead, his cleanly kept nails lightly grazing across your skin like he could heal you from the outside in, so tender was he with you, and your words were almost lost under the loud growl which ripped from J’s throat. He was quietened by Hannibal’s warning look, and Will was leaning against the kitchen island next to Pat. The younger man had his arms crossed and Will was mimicking Pat’s body language; all in the room were trying to soothe you without speaking as tears poured down your cheeks and you found your words coming out faster and faster, your breath stuttering, your thoughts and stomach whirling as did your mentality affect your physicality -

“Oh, my love,” Eric sighed and he drew you into his embrace, his lips at your temple. J assumed rank, protecting your back the way that you preferred to sleep at night, and silence fell. Only deep, angered breathing filled the room as each man fought for composure. You were more important than anything and anyone else right now but oh, how they all longed to deliver justice.

J had nuzzled his face into the nape of your neck when you hadn’t even finished speaking and now did he pepper kisses along the exposed skin there, trying to soothe you was he. Pat approached you next and he did his best to wrap his arms around J and Eric, so that you were sandwiched gently between the three of them. They had always and would always keep you safe, sane and honest.

“Those words aren’t true, babydoll. Daddy knows ya’. He knows who you are. Yy’re beautiful. Strong. Such a brave Hyena for me, hm? Ya’ain’t any of those things.” J’s soft, low voice soothed away your demon’s whispers, so loud was his love for you, and you allowed yourself to bask in the individual scents of the men who were your home.

“Stay here. The dogs are in the living room. Fire’s on. Keep her safe - Hannibal and I have something to, uh - “

“There is no time to delay. We must strike while the wounds are fresh and the knife is hot. Come along, Will.”

Like a dog called to heel did Will follow Hannibal out of the room, their footsteps receding quickly before the front door opened and closed. The thought made J laugh, though he was smart enough to not voice it, and instead did he stay there with you, to keep you safe. Taken were you to the living room where seven dogs waited, curled up all together by the roaring fire which you hadn’t realised had been lit some time ago by the very same man who owned this house, and you wondered how short a time it had been since Hannibal had allowed Will to bring his dogs into Hannibal’s grand home. You suspected that Hannibal hadn’t been given much of a choice, though true was it that the dogs soothed you and it was likely for that reason that Hannibal had allowed this occurrence. All of your loves would do anything for you, no matter what it took. 

It was here, with J pressed securely to your back, his body so tightly against yours that not even a single sheet of paper could have gotten between your bodies, with Pat pressed to your front, his body curved around yours and an arm slung over you so that he could hold J’s hand, and Eric sat with your head in his lap, that the four of you found rest, and where you realised that you were, quite simply, one of the finest humans ever to exist. How could you not be, with a heart so big and so full of love that you had an entire pack of humans and animals alike to get you through the day and make everything okay?

The battered hearts of gentle, untamed beasts rested in the palms of your hands and even as you cradled them so tenderly to your chest were your own teeth bared. They had taught you well and every day, even without trying, did you make your loves proud.

A crow cawed overhead, rain lashed against the window, fire crackled merrily in its place, and a quiet sense of peace overcame you. You were...

Home.

[jbbarnesandnoble]

Something Borrowed: Part One

Pairing: Teacher!Steve x SingleMom!Reader

Summary: Steve is your attractive neighbor, who happens to be daughters 3rd grade teacher. You’re a single mom with two kids, trying to balance work and raising your children. But never have time for yourself or a relationship. What could go wrong when you’re finally ready to date?

Chapter Summary: it’s the sunday before school starts at your kids new schools. And special occasions require special pancakes.

Warning(s): fluff, an intro to this little family, and a bit of motherly worrying. Warnings will change throughout the series.

Word Count: 1,604

Prompt: Teacher AU

A/N: This is my submission for @marvelfulxbabes writing challenge. I hope you all like this fully little fic of mine! This is my first series for Steve and I have to say I’m very excited about it!! We’re off to a but of a shaky start with this first part. Seeing as this isn’t exactly how i wanted to start this fic off. But i had to stuck with it. This has been a chaotic week to even find the time to breathe, let alone write. I’m sorry:( Feedback is very much appreciated, but never expected and definitely not mandatory!! Hope you enjoy it!

(this isn’t my gif)

The early morning sun peaks through the small spaces in the curtains. Pouring into your room, giving it a warm glow. Sunday’s are your favorite day. They’re peaceful, quiet, and slow paced. At least, that’s how they’re meant to be. With two kids, it makes it hard to find a quiet moment. But today, you found that peaceful -much needed- quiet.

Stretching your arms above your head, pointing your toes out. Your joints crack and pop in a delightful way. You sigh, content when your body relaxes back into the soft mattress. A few moments pass you by. While you enjoy the feeling of staying in bed a little longer today. Another sigh, your feet hit the cool wood of your bedroom floor. When you finally force yourself out of bed. Your feet guide you down the hall, through your home.

It’s a short walk to your kitchen, where your glorious, well loved coffee pot calls to you. A few scoops of coffee grounds and two cups of water later. And your kitchen already smells of coffee. The warm aroma floods your lungs, waking you up. While you wait for the coffee to brew, you take out a few ingredients out for pancakes. Your favorite breakfast food.

Once the coffee is done, your poor yourself a generous amount. Seeing as you’re the only caffeine drinker in the house. You drink it black. Not bothering with cream or sugar.

With a long sip, you feel yourself becoming less sluggish. Now that, that’s done, you focus on the pancakes. Mixing together all the ingredients you need. Throwing in blueberries and lemon zest to make them more special. A couple minutes later and they’re cooked, ready to be eaten. The only problem? You’re missing your two favorite sleepy heads to help you eat them.

Making your way through the livingroom and back down the hallway. You stop in front of your daughter’s door first. Managing to slip in without waking her up. Crossing her room, you stop next to her bed. Crouching down next to her little face. You whisper three little words you know she’ll wake up to. “I made pancakes.” You whispered into her ear, in a sing songy voice. As expected, her green eyes snap open. As wide as ever. “You made pancakes? Blueberry lemon pancakes?” Mary asks, her voice still groggy from sleep. You nod, a smile on your face. Without missing a beat, she sits up. Her blond hair sticks every which way. Wild from her nights sleep.

By the time you stand up, she’s racing down the hall. The sound of her small feet running gets farther and farther away. Then they stop altogether. Before they come racing back towards you. “Did you wake up Harley?” She asks, bouncing on her toes. Her big eyes look up at you, mischief swirls through the green of them. Her toothy smile is a playful one. You shake your head slowly. Mirroring her mischievous expression.

Without saying another word, the two of you ‘sneak’ to the door at the end of the hall. Tiptoeing down the dark hallway. Muffled giggles bounce off of the walls, as you try your best to be sneaky. Easily failing. Her eyes meet your own, both of you whisper as you count down from three. Before opening the door, the room is dark. Except for a sliver of light that peeks through the bottom of the blinds.

Tired of wasting any more time, you turn on the light. Mary runs into the room hopping onto the bed, placed against the wall. Giggles and screams flood the small room. You can’t help but laugh at the sight in front of you.

Mary is sitting on top of her older brother who is yelling, angry the two of you woke him up. Despite the chaos and noise, you feel your heart warming at the sight of your kids. Your kids who you love more than anyone, and anything. In the entire world. “All right, that’s enough. Hop down girly.” Clapping your hands together, you hold them out. Mary pouts, but jumps into your them anyway. “What was that for?” Harley grumbles, pushing his curly brown hair out of his face.

Still holding Mary in your arms. Who’s wrapped around you like a baby koala. You move closer to your son. “I made pancakes.” You smile down at him, giving him a wink. His face softens a bit. “Mary and I didn’t want you to miss out. Isn’t that right?” She nods. You continue. “By having us eat all of them.” turning on your heel, you move towards the door of his room. “But if you would rather sleep-”

“No!” He cuts you off. The excitement for pancakes evident in his voice. Clearing his throat, he continues. “I’m awake now anyway…” he says, trying to put back his facade of disinterested, moody teenager. Not that you believe it for a second. Of course you would never tell him that. For now.

The three of you make your way into the kitchen. You serve up three plates of still warm pancakes. Piled high with extra berries and whipped cream. Extra special toppings for an extra special day. Every year on the Sunday before school starts, you make special, lemon zest and blueberry pancakes. Your kids all time favorite breakfast. It isn’t exclusively for the day before school. It’s for any special occasion. Because special occasions deserves special pancakes.

Grabbing your coffee, you join your kids at the kitchen table. With Mary to your right and Harley across from you. You smile wide at both of them. Before directing a question towards them. “Who’s excited for the first day of school?” The reactions you get from them are both very fitting for their characters. Mary all but bounces up and down. Harley on the other hand looks as if someone ate his pancakes.

His reaction is only fair. It’s their first day of school at their new schools, in a relatively new town. It’s been three months since you moved them here at the beginning of summer, and your kids still haven’t made many friends yet. Mary you aren’t worried about. You wouldn’t be surprised if she became friends with half the class by lunch.

Harley on the other hand, he’s never really fit in. Usually because people tend to misjudge him upon meeting. They don’t take the time to get to know him, or see how kind he can really be. And that scares you. A lot

Monday mornings are a lot different from Sunday’s. It’s a busy, hectic blur as you try to get your kids ready for school and yourself ready for work. Double and triple checking that everyone is ready and has all of their things. You head out the door. The three of you pile into your old truck. You pray it starts. You’re pretty sure Hayley prays it doesn’t. You breathe out a sigh of relief when it does. After a couple tries.

It’s a short, mostly quiet drive. Except for Mary’s excited ramblings. First it’s Mary’s stop. Planting a kiss on her forehead, she hops out of your truck. Her red polka dot dress twirls as she spins around to wave bye. Next is Harley’s school. Glancing over your heart breaks. He’s as close to the door as possible. Staring at the floor. “Har, what’s wrong?” You ask, despite knowing the answer. With him, even if you know what’s going on in his mind. It’s best to ask, otherwise he’ll clam up. Stop talking all together.

A few minutes pass in silence. When you pull up to his school. He finally speaks. “Can’t I just stay home today. It’s not like we’re learning anything important. Just intro to classes.” He mumbles, you almost don’t hear what he says. “Ok,” you state plainly. When he looks at you, his hazel eyes stare at you with gratitude. “Really?” He says louder this time. You nod. “They’ll teach you things you already know. So why go. Right?” He nods again.

Then you look at him fully, face serious. But not angry or upset in anyway. Your eyes remain soft. “But, you can’t do that. No you’re Harley y/l/n and you love school. You love to learn. To build new things.” Pausing, you make sure he’s still listening. He is. You watch as his once hopeful eyes changes to something else. You continue to look at him, despite his eyes shifting towards the ground. You continue. “And sure, people suck. But I hear they have an awesome math and physics teacher. And don’t even get me started on the science lab.”

When his eyes meet yours again, you wink. It pulls a smile from him. It’s tiny, barely even there. But a smile nonetheless.

“Thanks ma.” Saying in the tiniest of voices, he grabs his bag off of the floor, placing it in his lap. “You’re gonna crush it, Har.” Your words are genuine. You mean it. He’s the smartest kid you know. He’s already built three robots and you know he’ll build more. Which is why the school isn’t the part that worries you. But you don’t say that. He doesn’t need to know you worry about that too.

A soft click of his seatbelt and a hand hovering over the door handle. He hesitates. “I love you.” Turning around, he wraps you in a hug. Whispering his words in your ear. “I love you too.” With that he disappears as he enters the small brown building. You head to work. Trying not to worry about your kids.

———

Taglist: @emmandhercoffecrisp​ // @imma-new-soul​

[arahul-abyssia]

Flight

Nintember Story #4! ( @starprincesshlc , @jklantern ). There are many more stories in a world than the grandiose ones we are usually privy to, many of which may not even cross paths with the heroes or villains. Sometimes, viewing a comparatively mundane tale in a fantastical world is a nice change of pace.

(Also, update on the situation with these stories: This one’s going up late because my life has been rather chaotic recently, and I’ve decided that the next story will be the final one, encompassing the last ten prompts, rather than two more with five each, as I’ve been doing.)

~~ Flight, Fear, Jungle, Brotherhood, Song ~~

“So you’re up here again, huh? Still dreading tomorrow?”

“Oh, was it that obvious?”

Of course he was up on the hill. Why wouldn’t he be up on the hill? It’s not like that was where his life was going to end tomorrow, where he’d have to stare the void in the face and somehow not only not break contact, but venture through it. Why shouldn’t he be at that point of no return, attempting to fill himself with as much bravery for the next day as he possibly could?

“Hey… flying can’t be that bad, right? It’s what your body was built for.”

“Yeah, but not my mind.”

“Really? Have none of Master Teba’s lessons helped?”

“If they have, I haven’t noticed. And it’s not like I can practice, because I need to ‘conserve my strength for the big day.’ ...Look, Tevara, I appreciate your attempts to help, honestly, but I think I need to be left alone for now.”

“If you say so, Rynn. Just know that I believe in you; you’re stronger than you know. ...Sav’orq!”

And she walked down the slope, toward the stable where they were staying, her face and gait as bright as ever.

Rynn spent most of the afternoon and evening in a quiet dread, having to force himself to eat something and struggling to fall asleep that night, which was already hard enough with the roughness of whatever they used to make the hammocks. A part of him wished the morning would never come, but come it did, and just after the sun had fully risen above the horizon, he was there on Whistling Hill alongside his friend, their parents, and the so-called trial director that he had met only once before.

“Alright, Rynn. You know the route: once you’re sent into the sky, fly southeast to Faron Jungle, then head directly eastward; just beyond its eastern edge is Tuft Mountain, past which is Lurelin Village, your destination. Land in the designated location to complete your Trial of Flight. When you are prepared, give your word and assume the starting position.”

Rynn took one final look at the three that has come to see him off: his dearest friend smiling with as much confidence as ever, her mother’s face embodying a kindness only time can bring, and his own father’s eyes filled with encouragement, even if the rest of his face didn’t show it. Nothing could ever truly eliminate the fear he was feeling, nor bring him the courage he lacked, but perhaps their expressions, and unending support over the past years, would be enough to get him through the imminent ordeal.

He took a deep breath, then spread his wings out and loosened his talons. “I… am ready.”

The director brought out a small piece of Sheikah technology, shaped something like an angular banana, which Rynn assumed was the device he had been told would be used to launch him into the air. The imposing Rito aimed it at the ground below Rynn for a few seconds, then brought it into the air.

“On my mark. Three… Two… One… Fly.”

On the final word, he activated the device, creating a large pop-like sound and an enormous updraft centered around Rynn. He barely had time to register what was happening before the wind caught his wings and he was sent into the sky. Every instinct in his body screamed to close his eyes and return to the ground, but he fought it, determined to do what he had to do.

Near the top of the updraft, he felt another wind blowing eastward and so adjusted his wings to catch it. In the distance, Rynn could just barely see the lush and unique greenery of the Faron Jungle. He noted its direction, then quickly turned his head to the sky before him. As frightening as the empty open air was, far more so was the distance between him and the ground, and he wished to avoid looking at any part of it as much as possible while in flight.

The wind was powerful but not at all turbulent, so all Rynn had to do to maintain his course was flap his wings occasionally and keep the rest of his body in the ideal flight position, making small corrections as necessary. His stomach was still churning, as though it were full of butterflies that had just drunk nectar from swift violets, but he was making sure progress. Within a short time, he was beginning to pass over the jungle, noting his approach on one of his sporadic and short glances downward. The fear within him slightly alleviated as he thought, Perhaps this won’t be so bad.

And then, as if on ironic cue, the winds suddenly picked up. Rynn had certainly practiced in more unstable air, but he was nowhere close to accustomed to it, and thus what had just been a breeze (in multiple senses of the term) was now much more turbulent. All the fear that had slowly left him was now returning in full force, stronger than ever. His vision began to blur and he started flapping his wings frantically, the directed reason and focus in his mind being rapidly replaced by panic. He felt his lower body being constantly blown out of position by the wind, his feet and tail feathers shifting about wildly in the gale. He had just enough time to notice the sudden grey in the sky and a round object hurtling towards him before a searing pain shot through his left wing, and he was falling, waving his other limb about in a desperate attempt to slow his descent.

He wasn’t sure when he lost consciousness, but he found himself waking up on a muddy shore of a pond, his lower half still submerged. After blinking a few times, he attempted to push himself to his feet, but another bolt of pain struck his left wing when he tried to put weight on it. Instead, in a haphazard manner he rolled himself onto his back, then sat up, trying to gain a sense of where he was as the haze cleared from his vision.

From the look of the vegetation, he had no doubts that he had fallen directly into Faron Jungle, likely having had his fall broken by the tree cover before falling into the pond, then drifting to its shore. There was a large cliff to his right, but in every other direction was only more foliage. The only sounds besides his breathing were the noises of the local wildlife, the occasional crash of thunder, and the fall of rather heavy rain.

In his surveying, Rynn once again put too much weight on his left wing and nearly cried out in pain. Bringing the limb up, he found that most of its feathers were damaged or missing, and the front end of it was twisted and bent at an odd angle. He didn’t know if it was broken, but it was certainly injured enough that he wouldn’t be able to use it.

He took another moment to sit and wait while his head properly cleared, then pulled his legs out of the water and brought himself to his feet. His clothes felt utterly soaked and his feathers felt wholly waterlogged, despite both being designed to wick away water. Though he knew it wouldn’t help much, he tried to shake off some of the wet and wipe away the grime that covered much of one side of his body and clothes.

From what he had been told about the jungle, he knew there was a travel path that ran through it, crossing its main river (“Floria”, I think?) a few times and connecting the rest of Hyrule to the mountain and village on its southeasternmost shore. With the cliff nearby, he figured he would have the best luck in finding the path if he traveled directly away from it, and so, clutching his left arm close to his body to keep it steady, he set off.

As he walked, his mind wandered again to the events that had knocked him from the sky. He had no clue what the round object was, but he did think it odd that the winds had picked up so quickly and a storm had so suddenly appeared. Rynn had been told that they specifically had picked this day for his Trial of Flight because his route would consist of clear skies and relatively agreeable winds. Had they been mistaken? Had an error occurred somewhere in the process? He didn’t know, and he didn’t have the energy or focus to think about it either.

The canopy of leaves above did well to block the brunt of the rain, but many droplets still got through and hit him, doing nothing to fix the problem of how drenched he was. Strangely, though he was certainly unnerved by his current situation, he did not feel much at all of either fear or panic, and he was not sure why.

It’s… probably just because I’m too tired to feel anything…

Eventually, he came upon a thicker patch of vegetation where some mid-sized animals were rooting around for food. Based on their tusks and round furred bodies, Rynn guessed that they were some sort of boar. He changed his path to go around them, hoping that they would not even notice him. However, this was not to be, for one of his talons broke a branch on the ground beneath him only moments after he turned.

Rynn was met with small glittering eyes, each pair staring at him unflinchingly. He didn’t know if they were sizing him up as a threat, nor did he want to know. He began running in his new course, panic welling up within him once more as his vision started blurring once again. He began to feel light in the head, as though he were quickly running out of energy. Bursting from the foliage, he stumbled and fell onto much brighter earth, everything fading to black as two forms approached, one distinctly horse-shaped and the other some large and rotund biped.

His next experiences blurred together as he faded in and out of consciousness. Most of it was dominated by the sounds of hoofbeats, rain, and a rushing river. Besides that, he heard the occasional concerned murmur in a woman’s voice and urgent back-and-forth shouts at least once; he never could make out what they were saying. Eventually, he felt the air change, the humidity of the jungle being replaced by a clearer and saltier breeze, and he faded into a deeper sleep.

The next time consciousness returned to him, everything was far clearer. Rynn found himself in a round room of various brown tones with a curved and sloped roof, the telltale orange light of dusk streaming through the windows. He tilted his head to the side, seeing two Hylians talking quietly. They seemed to notice his shifting and turned to look at him. The darker of the two smiled and said, “Ah, so you’ve woken up. Welcome to Lurelin Village!”

“...What… what happened to me?” Rynn whispered, too tired to make his voice any louder.

The other woman, dressed in adventurer’s clothes and with supplies and weapons to match, answered. “I figured you wouldn’t remember. You stumbled onto the path through Faron Jungle just in front of my friend and I, then collapsed. When we tried to talk to you, you were completely unconscious, so we put you on my horse and rushed to the Lakeside Stable. They didn’t have the proper supplies to give you medical attention, so we were sent here instead.”

“You’re in our Medicine House right now. Your wing was fractured, but I’ve set it and bound it, as you can see, and once you’ve rested enough, I’ll have you drink this”--she held out a vial full of some sort of blood red liquid--“which should expedite the regrowth and repair of the wing, and you’ll be good to go by midday tomorrow.”

Rynn turned his head to face the ceiling again, slowly blinking as his thoughts swirled. “I… I see…”

“Ordinarily, I’d ask you what you were doing wandering around Faron Jungle with no adventuring gear to speak of, but I imagine that’s not what you were originally doing. You’re Rynn, right? The Rito whose flight exam was supposed to end here today?”

He nodded silently.

“Thought so. After we contacted the stable near the starting point (thank the goddesses that Sheikah communication box thing worked), we overheard something about the situation, and not too long after, two other Rito men arrived, insisting that they must see you. Their, uh, ‘attitudes’ and ‘levels of energy’, I guess, were a bit… too high, and you needed to rest in quiet, so Phenea had Gudek block the doorway. Last I checked, at least one of them was pacing back and forth outside.”

There was a noticeable lack of light coming in through the slits in the door, as they were blocked off by the rocky back of a Goron, which Rynn deduced was both this ‘Gudek’ and the rotund figure he had seen back on the jungle path. Phenea, then, must have been on the horse’s back at the time.

“I see… then, let them in, please.”

The doctor seemed to want to protest, but clearly decided not to, as Phenea got up and knocked on the door, telling Gudek that the Rito could now be let in. The Goron shifted out of the way and opened the door, and Rynn’s father and the flight director swiftly walked in. They stared at him for a moment, then the former seemed to try to rush in to hug him before thinking better of it.

“Rynn… I’m so glad you’re safe. When we got word of what happened, I… well, I began to imagine the worst. We flew over as quickly as possible…!”

“Yes, I must say, that experimental flight-enhancing Sheikah-tech worked particularly well, even in spite of all its… little issues. ...Would you happen to know or remember what damaged your wing? Was it the fall?”

Rynn had to push his mind a bit, but he remembered the event clearly enough, to the point that it would likely be etched in his mind for a long while. “Some sort of… large round object came flying at me as the storm was beginning… it might have had those Sheikah-tech markings?”

At this, the doctor spoke up. “I’ve heard of recent experiments with technology that can create weather. I’ll contact the Hateno Tech Lab about it tomorrow, assuming that communication cube thingy still works. I’d do it tonight, but it’s getting a bit late.”

“Thank you, Doctor.” said the flight director. Rynn and his father followed suit.

“Oh, speaking of the time: tonight we’re having a massive bonfire party, it’s part of an old tradition. No one really knows what it’s for anymore, but it’s a lot of fun, so we continue to have it every two months or so. You guys should come and watch! It’s when some of our best dancing and singing is shown off.” Throughout the invitation, the doctor gained a level of excitement and wonder that Rynn did not think doctors were capable of.

The other two Rito thought for a second, then shrugged. “I mean, I suppose since we can’t go home until tomorrow, we might as well have some fun.”

“Hmph. It’s not really my thing, but… well, I wanted to head back, but I think I want to be there for that message to the Lab: if there are going to sudden weather changes from here on, I think I, as a manager of flight, deserve to know what the hell is going on in all of that.” The director’s voice was slowly getting louder; he clearly cared quite a lot about his work, even if he didn’t show it.

“That settles it then! In the meantime, though, I’d like all of you to leave: Rynn still has resting to do, and an overstuffed Medicine House won’t help with that.”

It looked as though everyone else wanted to protest, but they quickly turned and left one-by-one. As their footsteps faded away, Rynn heard something about Phenea and Gudek telling them about the dances and songs, because they had “been to a lot over their travels,” and the flight director rapidly excusing himself to use the communicator to update the stable at Whistling Hill, specifically Tevara and her mother, on the whole ordeal.

“You rest up now, Rynn. When you’re ready, your clothes are on the table right over there--we washed and dried them right after we cleaned you (I hope you don’t mind)--and the rest of the stuff that was on you is just next to it. Take this healing potion right before you go to bed for the night. You got all that?”

Rynn nodded softly; he could already feel sleep trying to take him once more.

“Good.” The doctor set the bottle on the table, then exited the house, as Rynn’s senses faded away, in a manner far more peaceful than the previous two times.

When he next awoke, the sun had fully disappeared, but a bright firelight was illuminating the room. Rynn pushed himself up, careful not to put any weight on his fractured limb, then put on his clothes and exited the house. Down near the shore was the largest fire he had ever seen, with a pile of burning wood at least twice as high as any person. A ring of individuals was engaged in what seemed to be a very intricate dance, while a wider audience sang along joyously. Near the back of the audience circle he could see Phenea and Gudek talking non-stop to his father and flight director, seemingly to their slight annoyance, if their postures were anything to go by.

Rynn smiled and began walking towards the bonfire. For once in quite a long while, he realized, he felt quite content and, amazingly, entirely devoid of fear.

[politicalmamaduck]

The Last Shot

Today is the two year anniversary of when I started posting this fic! Happy Birthday, Bri/ @the-reylo-void!

A Smuggler Ben Solo/Dark Side Rey arranged marriage fic for @the-reylo-void. Many thanks to @rapturousaurora for betaing, @cosetteskywalker for the above moodboards, and @aionimica for her drawing of Rey in her wedding dress!

Read it on AO3 here, and listen to the playlist here!

Chapter Twenty Seven: Balance | Chapter Twenty Six: Light to Meet | Chapter Twenty Five: Darkness Rising | Chapter Twenty Four: The Betrayal | Chapter Twenty Three: Stay | Chapter Twenty Two: The Storm | Chapter Twenty One: The Fulcrum | Chapter Twenty: In Darkness | Chapter Nineteen: Rey’s Dream | Chapter Eighteen: Jakku | Chapter Seventeen: The First Flashback | Chapter Sixteen: The Rendezvous | Chapter Fifteen: Tatooine | Chapter Fourteen: The First Mission | Chapter Thirteen: Goodbye to Naboo | Chapter Twelve: The Wedding Night | Chapter Eleven: The Aftermath | Chapter Ten: The Wedding | Chapter Nine: Naboo | Chapter Eight: The Time in Between | Chapter Seven: The Negotiations | Chapter Six: The Duel | Chapter Five: The Discovery | Chapter Four: The Bargain | Chapter Three: The Bounty | Chapter Two: The Meeting | Chapter One: The Treaty

The world in which Ben Solo woke up was bright, but artificially bright, unlike Tatooine’s binary suns causing the sands to shimmer. The unwary could easily believe they saw things in the desert, things living or dead. Whether or not those things were really there, one could not say. 

It was also quiet, save for the hums and beeps of machinery. Was he on a ship? He was alive, that was the most important thing, and no one was shooting at him for the moment. His head ached, but not as badly as it had on Tatooine. His body was sluggish and his vision still slightly blurred. He blinked a few times and raised his hands to see that they were, in fact, not bound, and noted the healing bruises on his wrists. 

He took a deep breath and closed his eyes once more. 

“The patient has awakened,” he heard a med droid say. He tried to open his mouth to respond, but the med droid was too quick, and injected him with something. He could feel himself slipping back into unconsciousness as he heard a female voice responding to the droid. His mother? His wife?

This time, he dreamed. He dreamed of a battle, with Rey by his side and at his back, their ‘sabers clashing against weapons in a red-tinged darkness. He dreamed of his mother, finally retired on Naboo, having Gatalentan tea with Aunt Amilyn and the Naberries. He dreamed of his uncle, training a new generation of Jedi. He dreamed of his father and Uncle Lando, laughing in the Falcon with Chewbacca. 

He dreamed he was happy. 

He could almost believe it, even though he knew it to be a dream. He felt as though he could swim on the tide of happiness, float in the healing waters as they pushed him to shore and into his loved ones’ outstretched arms.

The sun and the waves were soft, caressing him like a mother or a lover, bearing him along to safety. 

The Light had always been there, calling him, just as the Dark, but he needed to find it within himself, to embrace it as his own choice, rather than what his family or the galaxy demanded of him. 

And so did Rey. 

Rey, he thought. He wondered where she was, if she could forgive him for not telling her the extent of his communications with the Resistance. 

Rey, his beautiful, stubborn, fierce wife, who so badly wanted a family of her own and vengeance for the one she had lost. She was equal parts light and dark as he was, and she too in time would come to realize the balance required by the Force and forge her own path.

He hoped she would allow him to be there with her, by her side, as she figured it out for herself. 

The water upon which he was floating was not water, he belatedly realized in the haze of his dreams and thoughts. 

Ben opened his eyes again to find himself submerged in a bacta tank. The tank’s monitor started beeping loudly, and the medical droid hurried over to address it. If the droid were a human being, Ben was certain it would have sighed, for its patient seemed determined to awaken from sedation early. 

Ben could feel himself being propelled upward as the tank’s top was removed, and prepared himself for the removal from submersion. 

The medical droid helped him out of the tank and guided him to a nearby bed, and only then did he notice the woman sitting in a chair to the left of the bed, glaring at him. 

Rey. 

Ben situated himself in the bed, and the droid promised to come by with food. 

They were alone together, and Ben found he did not know how to begin, but Rey saved him the trouble.

“You took a long time to recover.”

“I’m ten years older than you, remember?”

“That doesn’t make you old. You wasted your Force potential for too long.”

“Yes, I know,” he replied, looking down at his hands. “Where exactly are we, anyway?”

“Your mother’s Resistance base. They weren’t exactly happy about me being here, but I think the look on my face and your condition caused them to keep quiet for the time being, except for that golden protocol droid.”

Ben smiled at the thought of C-3PO’s incessant fretting. “Oh dear, oh dear,” he deadpanned to mimic the droid, looking at Rey, hoping she would at least smile. 

She laughed, which turned quickly to another intense frown. “You should have told me about all this.”

“I know,” he repeated. “I am truly sorry, Rey.”

“You should be.” Her lower lip quivered. “I’m sorry too, Ben. I betrayed you, too.”

Ben was certainly not about to quibble with her word choice, not when she offered an apology after presumably saving his life. 

“But you saved me. Thank you,” he said, gently reaching out to her in the Force. She didn’t respond, but she didn’t push him away, either. 

She shook her head. “The Resistance got there first. I wanted to try to heal you myself, but they wouldn’t hear of it.”

“You know how to Force heal?” he asked, his eyebrows raised. It was said that the healing arts employed by dark side users came at a great price. 

She shook her head. “I meant with the supplies the Knights and I have, until we could get you to our hideout. Fionnuala is the best at Force healing, but she wasn’t there with me; only Falisa and Keeva were.” 

“You have a hideout?” he asked, his eyebrows raised once again. She sighed. “Of course we do. Hux’s troops and the Knights don’t always get along, and we’re not entitled to command troops or ships.” 

He nodded. While he would admit to being curious, the idea of being ensconced with the powerful, malevolent Knights of Ren and who-knew-what-else dark side relics in a location of their choosing would probably make even Luke Skywalker nervous, even if he hadn’t faced down temptation numerous times. 

Ben could still feel the nervous, chaotic, pernicious energy that had permeated the atmosphere on Jakku. It was something he was not inclined to repeat. 

“Thank you, though. For your apology and for attempting to rescue me. And coming here,” he added. He wondered who among the Resistance dared antagonize Rey.  

She shook her head again. “No, Ben. I’m the one who sent the bounty hunters after you.”

In that instant, Ben Solo’s carefully constructed world--and vials of medicine sitting on the nearby table--shattered.

[hunnywrites]

Sixteen Candles: Part One

Summary: It’s the day that Vivian has been looking forward to nearly her entire life: her sixteenth birthday. But between her sister’s wedding overshadowing her big day, and praying that her crush Billy Hargrove will finally notice her things aren’t going too well for her. If she can just survive the under the sea dance at her school and avoid the really weird and creepy Tommy H her night might be salvageable. Maybe. 

Pairing: Billy Hargrove/OFC

A/N: I’m cracking under the pressure and writing one of the 80′s teen movie inspired fics for Billy. I meant to get this up a few days ago on my birthday, but we all know I’m horrible with deadlines. This is gonna be a mini fic, probably around six chapters in total. And I’d say it’s an AU. I hope you all like it! We get to see more of Cheryl Burns from Arcade Dreams which I’m pretty excited about. 

Vivian’s house was chaotic on a good day. Weekday mornings went by in a tornado like blur as she and her older sister Carol got ready for school and her parents readied themselves for work. If it wasn’t Carol and Vivian arguing over who got to use the bathroom first, it was Vivian yelling at Carol for using up all of the hot water and borrowing her clothes without asking. Their mother had given up on cooking her family a big breakfast once both of the girls had started high school, and now the two sisters all hurried around the kitchen dodging each other while fixing themselves a bowl of cereal while their father practically choked down some dry toast and coffee. That was a normal morning. This week had been been anything but normal.

Vivian’s older sister Sarah was getting married in two days. The only catch was that Sarah her fiance Kevin lived in Florida. Which meant that all wedding planning was taken over by Vivian’s parents. Which meant that their household had gone from chaotic to nuclear war zone. The phone was constantly ringing. If it wasn’t a florist or a caterer or someone that was calling with questions about the wedding, it was Sarah calling nearly in tears over how scared she was that her wedding would be anything less than perfect. 

Tonight would be a slight reprieve though. Her parents were driving a few towns over to pick Sarah and Kevin up from the airport, and wouldn’t be back until the middle of the night. Their mother had absolutely forbidden them from taking any calls regarding the wedding. They’d been instructed to take a thorough message on the notepad their mother had left on the fridge and that was all. “I want homework done as soon as you get home. There’s leftovers in the fridge so no ordering pizza. I want you both in bed by ten and absolutely no friends over.” their mother had said. That last part had been mainly for Carol. She’d been known to throw a few impromptu get togethers anytime their parents were gone for the night.

Vivian never really minded. Even though she and Carol got along as well as two alley cats, Vivian always covered for her. Regardless of the fact that Carol’s boyfriend Tommy was an absolute weirdo and Vivian always spent most of the time hidden in her room to avoid him, there was one reason that she was so willing to look the other way when it came to Carol’s parties. Billy Hargrove. 

The crush Vivian had on him was absolutely shameless. Just like every other girl at her school, Vivian had it bad for Hawkins’ resident bad boy. They definitely weren’t close or anything. They barely interacted. If Vivian was ever brave enough to leave her room when Carol had friends over he might say hi or give her a nod in the halls at school if she could work up the nerve to say something to him. Of course Vivian had it all built up to much more in her mind. Countless times she had fantasized about saying a flirty hello to Billy in the hall, and that nod would be followed by him sauntering over, taking her in his arms and kissing her so hard she’d forget her own name. 

But there was one other thing getting in the way of Vivian’s fantasies ever becoming a reality ...aside from the obvious of course. Cheryl Burns. Cheryl was Billy’s pseudo girlfriend. They weren’t quite friends with benefits. They weren’t really even friends. But they both hung out in the same circle, they were both freakishly attractive and Billy was of course more than willing to pretend to be Cheryl’s date every once and awhile in exchange for...well, Vivian didn’t really like to think about what those two were most definitely doing. And it wasn’t like Vivian wasn’t attractive. She was just painfully shy and awkward. But those two things definitely didn’t work well with trying to get a boy’s attention. 

Which was why she was stuck up in her bedroom and watching down on Carol and her friends wistfully from her window. The usual crowd was there. Tommy H had brought a twelve pack of beer, Nicole had brought some guy along (Vivian was pretty sure his name was Curt), and Cheryl was placed delicately in Billy’s lap. It was still warm outside. The weather was somewhere between summer and fall, so Billy could comfortably lounge out by the pool in a pair of jeans a light blue button up shirt. Vivian wanted to rip the buttons off with her teeth.

She shook her head wildly to get the image out of her mind and reached for the pale yellow phone that sat next to her bed. She quickly dialed her best friend’s phone number, her leg bouncing nervously as she waited for her to pick up.

“Hey, Viv-”

“He’s here.” Vivan hissed, keeping her voice down as if somehow the group outside would hear her. 

“...Who’s there?” Robin asked. 

“Billy! Carol invited them over since my parents are off picking Sarah up.” Vivian explained, looking down once again at Billy who still had no idea she was even home. 

Robin sighed loudly on the other end. “Viv, I really don’t get this whole Billy thing. I mean aside from the obvious reasons. The guy’s a total douchebag. He’s like the douchiest of douchebags. And I’m pretty sure he uses more hair product than you do.” Vivian rolled her eyes at the joke.

“Okay, so he’s not exactly Prince Charming,” Vivian agreed. Robin let out a snort. “But he’s not that bad. I mean he’s like mysterious. Dangerous.” she explained. Try as she might, Vivian had never really been able to explain the appeal of the whole bad boy type to Robin. She always just looked at her like she was speaking some foreign language. 

“Can you even hear yourself?” Robin laughed.

“Oh shut up,” Vivian said with a sigh. “Robin, this is the worst. He’s in my backyard and I’m up here like some sort of peeping tom.”

“I gotta be honest, Viv. That’s pretty pathetic.” she teased.

“I know.” why couldn’t she just go downstairs and talk to him? He was just a boy. Vivian told herself it was because she didn’t want to hear Carol bitching at her that she was trying to scare her friends away or she didn’t want to deal with Tommy and his flirting with her (if you could really even call it flirting). But she was a chicken with a capital C. I’m totally gonna die alone, she thought with a groan.

“Look,” Robin began with a serious tone. “He’s right downstairs. He’s not dating Cheryl. You should just go ask him out. Bite the bullet. I mean, it’s not like you’ll die if he says no or whatever.” it had always driven Vivian crazy how Robin could have such a casual attitude towards everything. She didn’t think there was a thing out there that could scare Robin. Well, except maybe one thing. 

Vivian crossed her arms. “I’ll ask Billy out the day that you ask Tammy Thompson out.” 

Robin was silent for a moment and Vivian could practically hear Robin rolling her eyes dramatically. “...Touche,” was all she said. “Listen, I’m changing the subject now. What do you wanna do tomorrow?” 

Tomorrow was Vivian’s sixteenth birthday. Something she had been looking forward to practically her entire life. A girl’s sixteenth birthday was a big deal. A right of passage. She’d finally be able to drive. Initially she had a whole plan laid out. Her entire day had been scheduled from morning until night. But then Sarah called to announce that Kevin had proposed. And then they decided they’d be getting married the day after Vivian’s birthday.

Then there was the under the sea dance at school. Hawkins High was trying to put a fun spin on their homecoming dance or something. It had been announced on the school’s morning announcements about a week ago. And Vivian had no intention of going. She and Robin never had any interest in those sorts of things. Carol definitely would, but Vivian wasn’t exactly bummed out over the idea of her sister missing out on any birthday plans she had. 

It just so happened that Kevin’s parents would be flying in on the night of Vivian’s birthday, as well as her grandparents. So her parents gave her and Carol a choice; either go to the dance or have dinner with Kevin and his parents at Enzos. Vivian decided the dance would be the lesser of two evils. 

“Ugh, I don’t even know anymore. Maybe we can catch a movie or something? I think Red Dawn is still out. Patrick Swayze and Jennifer Grey.” she said, wiggling her eyebrows. They probably wouldn’t have to stay at the dance long. Carol wouldn’t rat Vivian out for ditching solely on the principle of Vivian constantly covering for her. And it was better than spending the night trying to explain to her grandpa how the new TV worked for hours on end.

“I do love me some Swayze,” Robin joked. Vivian let out a snort. “If that’s what you wanna do, birthday girl, then that’s the plan. Listen, I gotta go finish some biology homework. Try to stop stalking Billy, okay?”

“I’m not stalking,” Vivian argued before sighing. “...I’ll try my best. I’ll see you tomorrow?” 

“You know it. Later, dork.”

Vivan smiled and rolled her eyes. “Later, dweeb.” 

She could still hear the sound of Carol and her friends hanging out by the pool, so Vivian decided it would probably be safe to head down to the kitchen. She could see from the top of the stairs that the small light above the stove was on, but she assumed Carol had left it on so she and her friends could see to get in and out of the house. She definitely wasn’t expecting to see Billy rummaging through the fridge. 

Vivian stopped short in the doorway and let out a small  “Oh.” when she saw him. There was a brief moment when she was deciding whether to go back upstairs or not, but before she could decide, Billy spotted her. 

He did somewhat of a double take when he saw her. Almost like he was making sure he wasn’t just imagining seeing someone in the doorway. He flashed a slow, easy smile her way and Vivian nearly gulped. “Hey, Viv.” nearly everyone she knew called her Viv. And yet somehow no one else managed to give her that tingly feeling that shot up her spine like Billy could whenever he said her name. Robin was right, she really was pathetic. 

“Hey…” she shifted awkwardly, not moving from her spot in the doorway. Say something you idiot, she scolded herself. You’re alone with Billy Hargrove in your fucking kitchen. Say something! 

Thankfully he beat her to the punch. “Nice shirt.” He said, nodding to the oversized Tank shirt she was planning on wearing to bed. The three headed hellhound that adorned her shirt was almost looking up at her judgmentally. 

“Hmm? Oh! Thanks! Yeah, uh my dad took me to see them a few years ago as a Christmas present.” she’d definitely gotten her taste in music from her dad. Back in the day he’d followed the Grateful Dead whenever they toured and he joked that he had the Kiss logo tattooed on his ass. Vivian kinda didn’t believe that one though. There was no way her mom would marry anyone with a tattoo of anything on their ass. 

Billy raised his eyebrows and let out a chuckle. “Your old man is definitely cooler than mine,” he pulled out a can of Coke and held it up in offering to Vivian. She gladly took it and mumbled out a thanks before taking a long sip. Billy watched her quietly for a moment before nodding his head towards the patio. “How come you’re not out there with everyone else?” 

Vivian rolled her eyes in a way that she hoped came off as casual. “Carol always says I’m trying to steal her friends or whatever.” she said with a shrug. That was the nice version. “Don’t think that you’re cool by association just because you’re my sister. You’re definitely not.” Carol had said once after Vivian asked if she could tag along to some house party Carol had been invited to. So Vivian gave up trying to hang out with Carol after that. Tommy and Carol would give her a ride to school and a ride home and that was about the extent of the relationship. 

“Yeah,” Billy said. “She can definitely be a bitch when she feels like it.” 

“You’re preaching to the choir,” Vivian said with a snort. She bit her lip when Billy let out a small laugh. This was it. This was her chance. There wasn’t anyone else around. She should just ask him to the dance. Robin was right, what was the worst that could happen? “So um...are you going to the dance tomorrow night?” she asked, trying to keep her voice sounding as calm and  casual as possible. Her heart was beating so hard in her chest that she was sure Billy could probably hear it. 

He made a face. “Probably. I’m pretty sure Cheryl’s gonna drag me along,” he rolled his eyes. Vivian’s heart dropped down into her stomach. Of course he was going with Cheryl. She would never miss an opportunity to flash off whatever sort of relationship they had. Cheryl would never pass up on making the other girls from school jealous. It was what she lived for. “What about you?” 

Vivian was so shocked he asked that she almost didn’t respond. She cleared her throat loudly before giving a small shrug. “Yeah. It’s either that or a rehearsal dinner for my sister’s wedding,” she rolled her eyes. “I mean, you’d think they’d let me skip out on both since it’s my birthday and all…” 

“Oh yeah? Well, happy early birthday. One year closer to the sweet release of death.” Vivian felt her cheeks grow hot at the way Billy grinned at the snort she let out. She was grateful that the kitchen was dark and he couldn’t see how red her face probably was. 

“Thanks...um, I have homework I gotta finish up so I should…” she jabbed a thumb in the direction of the stairs. “I guess I’ll see you tomorrow?” 

Billy nodded, a faint smirk on his lips. “Sounds like it. Later, Viv.” 

Vivian let out a sort of quiet, strangled, nervous laugh before turning around and all but bounding up the stairs. She sighed loudly once her door was closed behind her. “God, I’m such a fucking idiot,” she scolded herself. “I guess I’ll see you tomorrow?” She repeated in a mocking tone. She threw herself dramatically down onto her bed. 

If Billy thought Vivian was a total loser after that interaction he’d been gracious enough to hide it from her. So much for small miracles, she guessed. There was a sinking feeling in her stomach that later when Billy was driving Cheryl home he would bring up Vivian’s pathetic attempt to ask him out. The thought of them laughing at her made Vivian let out a loud groan. 

At least tomorrow was her birthday. She would wake up to the smell of the blueberry pancakes her mother always made for her birthday, her dad would crack his “boy, you sure are getting over the hill, huh, sweet pea?” Joke he cracked every year, and when she came home for school it would be time to open presents before Sarah, Kevin and her parents headed off to meet Kevin’s parents. If she focused on that then her run in with Billy didn’t seem so bad. 

Only that’s not exactly what ended up happening. Vivian woke up to a morning that wasn’t quite as chaotic as usual. It was so quiet that Vivian felt like something might be wrong. She’d almost wondered for a second if somehow she’d woken up late. There were no pancakes. No birthday jokes. Instead her father was running around an otherwise quiet house like a headless chicken. “Has anyone seen my briefcase?!” he called, poking his head into each and every room he walked by. He barely passed a glance in Vivian’s direction. Weird, but Vivian was willing to accept that he was just distracted. 

Her mother was in the kitchen with Sarah and Kevin. “...Morning.” Vivian said wearily as she walked in. Sarah was the only one that looked up. 

“God, Vivian what did you do to your hair?” Sarah gasped. Vivian frowned, reaching up to touch her red hair. “Who let you cut it? You’re a bridesmaid!” her sister’s face was growing more and more red by the second.  “We’ll have to put it up. This is completely unacceptable. Mom, did you approve of this?” Kevin  didn’t even bother to look up from his newspaper. Which was typical of him. He practically wouldn’t speak unless Sarah told him it was okay. 

Vivian’s mother rolled her eyes. “It looks fine, Sarah. Leave it. Vivian, do you want toast?” 

Vivian blinked a few times, wondering if maybe she was just dreaming. Or maybe they were trying to pull some sort of prank on her. “Um...no. I’ll get cereal I guess if there aren’t pancakes…” she said, looking carefully at her mother.

Her mom let out a snort. “Not unless you’re making them. Okay, I have to get going. You’ll get a ride with Carol?” she asked, turning to look at Vivian. She could only nod. “Sarah, you have to meet with the florist in an hour. I’ll be home at five.” she shot Sarah a pointed look before walking out. 

Vivian opened and closed her mouth a few times. 

“Jesus, what crawled up your ass?” Carol asked with a dramatic eye roll as she walked into the kitchen. She looked at Vivian’s pajamas and scoffed. “And will you get dressed? Tommy will be here soon and I’m not waiting for you. If you’re not ready by the time he gets here you’re taking the bus with all the other dorks.” 

Vivian looked at her sisters. Carol was shooting her a dirty look while Sarah looked at Vivian and her hair with a nearly disgusted look. She silently spun around, heading up to her room, shutting the door behind her and leaning against it.

“I don’t believe this...they fucking forgot my birthday.”